Soldier, Spectre, You and I
by Raven Studios
Summary: (AU) Tavia Shepard was ejected from the Alliance Military after interfacing with a damaged Prothean beacon on Akuze. Garrus Vakarian was noticed by a Spectre, who was killed in connection with another Prothean beacon on Eden Prime. Now, the cynical contractor and the brash crusader must find a way to balance strengths and handicaps to unravel a plot bigger than both of them.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes:

Mass Effect isn't mine: it all belongs to Bioware. That includes the cover image which was taken from ME2's "Genesis" DLC, the art of which was done by Dark Horse Comics. Obviously though, also not mine.

This started as a side project because I was tempted to write something Shakarian (or pre-Shakarian in this case); I wanted to try my hand at AU since it was something I'd never really done before, and definitely needed a break from the angst in the _Newton_ Project. After _Soldier, Spectre_ stalled and I thought it dead, it ended up resurrected as part of my word drive in November of 2015. After a year of off-and-on revisions I found it painful to have this finished project sitting on my flash drive collecting dust… so here it is, and hopefully it will a pleasant read over the next few weeks.

~Raven Studios

Tavia: Soldier

Tavia Shepard jerked out of her doze at the gentle chime of her intercom. "Shepard," she declared briskly, shaking off the cobwebs of restless dozing. It was not her custom to doze while at work, but worry and warm sunlight had left her mind feeling hazy and lax—two things, she thought sourly, she shouldn't feel today of all days.

Life seemed to have made headway in turning her into a true civilian.

"Ms. Shepard, your nine o'clock is here," the secretary, Ralph, announced cheerfully.

"Send him in," she severed the link, got to her feet. Her knee still hurt and she could feel that _something_ was wrong with her shoulder. She took a slow breath, trying to force the muscles to relax, but they wouldn't. She was not looking forward to this meeting, but she'd learned a certain patience with people in general which gave her hope that she could navigate it well enough.

At least, she had learned patience with regards to clients who came into her office.

She watched as Capt. David Anderson strode into the room, his BDUs in impeccable condition. Despite her disgust for the Alliance, she still respected Anderson. They hadn't agreed on the last thing that really mattered, but she could respect acting on one's conscience… even if she deplored the results. He'd been on her side… just not in the same corner. That was the shame of it.

Even though disappointment lingered, she felt that they were still amicable to one another, called or messaged one another from time to time during the course of the year—usually for birthdays, Christmas, and military-oriented holidays. It was more contact than she'd maintained with anyone else.

Her calm ruffled when a turian followed him in. Ridiculously tall and spindly, they were the most alien of aliens in her mind. Their bright beady eyes always seemed to be offering a challenge, and as a rule turians and humans were not fond of one another. He didn't seem openly hostile, though, so she did what she was best at: she took him in with a swift, practiced glance.

Rangy, loose in the joints, presenting that bright interest that meant absolutely nothing where turians were concerned. Blue clan markings adorned his carapace while a targeting visor obscured one eye. He wore the standard uniform for turians in active military service, but something about it seemed wrong. Out of order.

ICT trained their operatives about many species, but the training always started with—and was most in-depth for—turians. Too much history for it not to, she thought idly. She would have bet money he caused quite a stir among the Vancouver populace: a turian wandering all bright-eyed and toothy around the human homeworld.

"Anderson." She limped around the desk to shake the man's calloused hand.

Anderson's gaze fell to the damaged knee that caused the limp, but his eyes snapped away almost as soon as they stopped. "How's the knee?" he asked comfortably.

"Still aches when it threatens to rain. Luckily the civilian sector doesn't care if you're limping around. In fact, I sometimes think it improves business," she answered. Civvies seemed to think the limp gave her character, or served as a kind of resume: _I am a survivor. Stick with me, and you will be, too._

She might be limping around and considered her days of mad dashes and punishing duck-and-covers over—the doctors told her she had a psychosomatic issue about that knee but a gut-deep bad feeling kept her from seeing anyone who might be able to tell her why…or fix it—but she hadn't lost her edge. She'd done what any good marine would do: she'd adapted. It was what humans in general did. It was what training instilled in her. Fortunately, and she'd learned to count her blessings, her combat role was never frontal assault. She was a flanking maneuver, she controlled combat at range in a variety of ways. Bullets exchanged up-close were usually a last resort. She preferred to think of herself as, more than ever, an ambush predator.

"Who's your friend? I was hoping this was a for old times' sake meeting." She limped back to her chair and sank into it, falling the last inch or so as her knee gave way. Her mouth pursed, less with pain and more from the discomfort of the joint giving way. The twinges of pain were certainly real enough. As she had many times before, she wondered if 'psychosomatic' was the catch-all 'miscellaneous category for the medical profession. It sounded so much better than 'I don't know' and put the problem squarely in the patient's lap.

"Afraid not," Anderson answered heavily, settling in one of the two chairs. "You look like you're doing well for yourself." It was the first time he'd ever set foot in her place of business, the first time they'd seen one another in person since the Alliance had royally screwed her over. Her office was a comfortable room, a little small, a little cluttered, but cozy.

It even had a window, which was obscured by a monstrous climbing plant and light-diffusing curtains.

Tavia shrugged, glancing around. "I can afford my bills and taxes." Life had made her mildly cynical, but hadn't ruined her. She considered it quite the achievement. "So, who's your friend?"

Anderson shook his head, as if to say he ought to have known better than to think he could distract her for longer than the pleasantries took. "This is Garrus Vakarian—"

"On loan from Citadel Security," Vakarian appended promptly.

"Calling bullshit," Tavia declared flatly, wondering what his expression actually was. His face plates and mandibles shifted, but turian expressions were not like those of other species. They lacked lips, for one thing and mandibles were no substitute. The teeth weren't particularly reassuring, either, especially knowing as she did that turians were like sharks: their teeth always regrew. They weren't obligate carnivores, but there was a reason the human accusation 'they _eat_ our dead!' for the First Contact War hadn't quite gone away. "Might have started C-Sec, but you're not now. Cut the crap or you can _both_ leave." She crossed her arms and legs, scowling at Anderson. He knew better than to jerk her around, which made her wonder why he was doing it now.

Correction: which was why she wondered how come Vakarian hadn't been apprised of this aversion.

When she was met with polite surprise from Vakarian, her lip curled. Another thing she hated was being treated like an idiot. It was called _C-_ Sec for a reason. _Citadel_ Security.

"C-Sec doesn't leave the Citadel. They're not a library, there's no inter-agency loan program. Besides," she finally hit on why his uniform looked so odd, "turians like their medals and tags. No tags. No name placard. You're not even wearing rank stripes. Sterile uniforms stand out."

Vakarian applauded gently. "She's sharp," he nodded with approval.

"The C-Sec bunk wasn't a fast pitch," Tavia declared grimly, looking from Anderson to Vakarian and back. She pushed herself to her feet, on the verge of politely telling them to leave right now since they were obviously here for no good reason. She didn't like the cant of this meeting. Something about it smelled wrong and she'd learned in the civilian sector that when something smelled wrong it was best to stay out of it.

"No, it wasn't," Vakarian agreed amiably.

Tavia frowned at him, wishing he'd come to the point. "Why do I doubt you're here for security reasons?"

"Oh, I _am_ here for security reasons," Vakarian corrected, getting to his feet. He seemed to unfold like the chains of paper people Tavia remembered from grade school. "Maybe not the conventional kind. They tell me you encountered something on Akuze."

His words made her blood run cold, made a screaming black in the recesses of her mind open like a sinkhole, bringing with it an echo of a strange sound she couldn't identify. "Thresher maws. Lots of them," Tavia answered crisply, her tone full of warning that he did _not_ want to discuss this with her. It was more than thresher maws, and the reason she was a civilian now, though the Alliance would deny this assessment vociferously.

"Beyond the thresher maws," Vakarian prompted. "Something that might have been worth the lives of your unit if it hadn't been… damaged."

" _Nothing_ was worth their lives," Tavia snarled, red spots appearing on her cheeks. When she spoke, it was in a tone she would not have used had she still been military, sharp and rejecting any further discussion. "Anderson. Get this avian asshole out of my office."

"This avian asshole isn't going _anywhere_ ," Vakarian cut across her in a tone that rivaled hers for the level of command that could be exerted without raising one's voice. "You found a Prothean artifact. The reports say it was broken when you were recovered. Was it broken when you found it?"

"I was told that it was all above my pay grade and that I didn't know nothing about nothing," Tavia answered, lips pursing, the old disgust and bitterness welling up like blood from a wound. She knew part of her sudden aggression had to do with triggered memory: thinking about the beacon, what it had done to her, about Akuze in general, always seemed to trigger an adrenaline dump, put her in a mindset to fight something.

The first time it had happened, at the medcenter, she'd ended up throwing anything within reach.

"Shepard," Anderson put in firmly after giving Vakarian a nasty look. "It's alright."

"It's _not_ alright," Tavia snapped back. "Both of you. Out. Next time, Anderson, don't bring the fan club." She tried to visualize the black place where the beacon had… damaged… her, tried to imagine it closing back up. It had been so long since she'd been forced to suppress it though, that she found it harder than she remembered it being.

Vakarian leaned on the back of his chair, eyeing her speculatively. "Shepard."

" _Ms._ Shepard. I'm a woman of business and I don't know you." It was juvenile to stick on the matter, to argue form of address, but she did it anyway. Her head began to ache, dull pain clawing its way down the muscles in her neck.

"I'm here in your office and asking politely because Anderson suggested you might be more cooperative under these conditions. The moment I walk out that door with my questions unanswered, you will find the inquiry much less to your liking." Vakarian's tone was polite for a man issuing a threat.

Anderson put a hand over his eyes, knowing things were about to take a sharp downturn. His attempts to mediate failed the instant Vakarian threatened Tavia. Tavia didn't take threats lightly. She was trained not to. "Shepard, don't do it…" he asked, wincingly… and probably more for form's sake than any real wish to spare the turian.

Tavia had, while the turian spoke so evenly, reached under her desk. It was a slow gesture that attracted no attention, even if Anderson was sure _something_ statement-making was in the wings.

The next thing Vakarian knew, she'd leveled a small pistol at him, round in the chamber, ready for action. When she spoke it was in the cold deadpan of someone quite willing to shoot if prompted. " _Don't_ threaten me in my own office, Vakarian. Anderson, your _friend_ here is screwing up by the numbers. Get. Him. _Out_."

She'd had to do this, once before, with a 'client' who'd turned out to be competition trying to 'give her some advice.' During that incident though, she hadn't had her pistol. Just her office furniture. She'd remedied her lack of armament after that meeting.

"This meeting really is over, Vakarian—" Anderson began, his tone edged with urgency which should have conveyed everything: Tavia was not known for pulling a weapon she did not intend to use.

"You're not going to shoot me," Vakarian declared, eyeing the weapon distastefully. He crossed his arms over his chest, mandibles twitching as he silently demanded what she was going to do about someone who called her bluff.

Without flinching, without hesitation, Tavia pulled the trigger, the concussive round dropping the turian's shields and send him sprawling back. It wouldn't kill him or ding his carapace; if the slug hit between the plates it might bruise him a little, but the damage would be superficial.

Tavia considered herself a responsible firearm owner: if she hadn't noticed the active shield module Vakarian wore, she would never have made such a… blunt… declaration. And she had the feeling that he would make the necessary excuses—possibly with Anderson's encouragement—if anything came of the incident.

She pressed her intercom with her free hand, not taking her eyes off Vakarian. "Don't worry, Ralph. Things're still… neutral… in here."

" _W-whatever you say, ma'am…_ " came Ralph's nervous answer. He'd been nervous when he heard her beating a guy up with a chair, too.

Tavia redirected herself to Vakarian who had regained his feet. So, that was what _shock_ looked like on a turian face. "Concussive round. In case I ever need to make a point. The next one is real and you're not a wearing a backup module. So…" Her trailed-off sentence left the matter open to further debate or bluff-calling. ICT trained their operatives to be ready to follow through on a bluff if that bluff was ever called.

Which she'd always thought meant it _wasn't_ a bluff… but the instructors had been adamant: it was a bluff until called. Without follow through that was all it could be.

Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

Her arm didn't shake, the barrel didn't waver. Her tense posture suggested she could hold that weapon at full stretch as long as she needed to… and if Vakarian tried something cute, say, trying to take it away from her, she would shoot him again without concern. N7s did not intimidate easily.

"Shepard," Anderson stepped in, though he didn't get between her barrel and Vakarian. That would be stupid; as a fellow N7, he knew to some degree how she thought, and she did not like him enough to let his presence deter her. He doubted she'd shoot Vakarian again because he doubted Vakarian would care to test her resolve. "Vakarian is Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. He wants to talk to you about the beacon you found and what it… did to you," he finished lamely.

"I was told it hadn't done _anything_ to me," Tavia growled. She had decided Vakarian was not an experienced whatever-he-was, but someone who still wanted to play at being (she now knew) a spook.

She didn't doubt his competence—Spectres didn't get to be Spectres by buying or charming their way into the organization. The glamor of his position simply just didn't seem to have worn off yet; she'd seen it in Special Forces, the young and enthusiastic, 'happy-to-be-here-sir!' type.

Trust her to end up with an FNG Spectre…

"Shepard," Anderson began gently.

"Maybe I don't _want_ to talk about it," Tavia responded, lowering the weapon so it rested on the desk. She made up for her decreased mobility by being a faster, more accurate draw than anyone she was likely to meet. The days of sniper rifles were over, except at the outdoor range on weekends.

"You do," Vakarian picked himself up, rubbing the sore spot on his chest. "Because your colony Eden Prime was attacked."

Oh, so dramatic!

"I know about that. I had a security team contracted by certain independent interests hours after it happened. _And_ it was all over the ANN." She was going to need a drink tonight. She rarely turned to alcohol, but an unusually large glass of wine with dinner suddenly sounded fabulous.

"What the ANN didn't tell you was that a beacon was found—a Prothean beacon," Vakarian shot back, irritably—though whether from being nailed by the concussive slug or because his Spectre status hadn't caused her any compunction in dispatching said slug was debatable.

He'd underestimated her. Tavia sighed; a mistake of youth and inexperience. Then, on balance, she amended the statement to 'a mistake of inexperience.' Age was hard to tell with turians. They were children, adults, or old to an untrained eye.

"It was whole when it was dug up," Vakarian continued, "It was broken after the colony was attacked. We found the beacon and the damage done to it similar to that of your encounter. We want you to come have a look at it."

"And?" Tavia asked suspiciously, her guts beginning to knot painfully. Sweat began to stand out on her forehead as she tried and failed to close up and shut down that black maw of fear the beacon had scarred her with.

"And answer a few questions," Vakarian added.

"It's all in my official report," Tavia answered briskly. "And I'm not going _near_ one of those things. No frikkin' way." She wanted to pinch the bridge of her nose, or rub the muscles in the back of her neck, but with Vakarian in the room, she refused to expose any weakness beyond her limp.

"Are you afraid?" Vakarian asked.

The taunt didn't touch her in the least. "Damn straight. It wasn't the _injuries_ that forced me out of the Alliance, it was that damn beacon," Tavia snarled. "I am _not_ going to let another ruin my new career just for _your_ morbid curiosity." She shuddered at the memory… and the fact that whatever the beacon had done to her, it had somehow lessened the impact of losing her unit, as if whatever it had shown her was so much more enormous that the lives lost that same day didn't even register.

The losses ached, but the ache was nothing compared to the deep, dark dread that had lurked in the back of her mind for the last five years. The loss had dulled… but the dread was as strong now as it was that awful day. It seemed wrong, to her, that the incorporeal, obscure whatever-it-was should outweigh the deaths of her entire unit.

"Who do you think attacked your colony?" Vakarian demanded.

"Geth," Tavia answered flatly. "Odd, but in my lifetime humanity realized it wasn't alone in the galaxy." Not that she was really old enough to remember much from that time, just _post facto_ fear for her parents—both of them career navy personnel stationed shipside—and fear of the new boogeymen.

Them _and_ their scary teeth.

"Not just geth," Vakarian responded dryly. "Geth and a ringleader. A ringleader who murdered a Spectre to get to the colony and then tried to blow both evidence and colony away!"

He was getting riled. The Spectre must have been a friend. She didn't think one human colony was enough to get him truly riled. She knew this was a biased assumption, but that was the Council's official stance: colonize the Traverse, by all means, but don't expect much if something goes wrong. She attributed this view to their flunkies as well, lacking any evidence to the contrary.

She also recognized a trend from human history.

"And it isn't going to stop. You may be the only person—" Vakarian continued.

"Oh, don't _even_ try that on me," Tavia breathed, shaking her head. "That last hope thing? Don't waste your breath. I'm immune."

"How can you not care?" Vakarian demanded, a note of shock and outrage in his tone.

Tavia gave him an arch frown indicating that she didn't have to answer his question, either. It made her question his interest in the colony, though. _And it isn't going to stop._ There was something in the vehemence of the words that did seem to defy her assessment of Spectres and their political views.

Anderson broke in, speaking sharply, finally weary of the wrangling and posturing. Wrangling on Tavia's side, posturing on Vakarian's. "Look, the only way this gets anywhere is if we put our cards on the table. Like I told you earlier: the more you jerk her around and play spook, the less she's going to cooperate. Push her any harder and all you'll get is her name, job title and serial number," Anderson said. "You'll have to break her down to get anything out of her, and she's been trained against that sort of thing. Besides," and this time the remark was aimed at Tavia, "we're all on the same side here." He narrowed his eyes at her, silently compelling her—or trying to—to be a little less antagonistic because _his_ was the ass caught between a rock and a hard place.

Huh. Someone must be leaning on him.

Tavia hoped Vakarian would take Anderson's words to heart. She snorted, though. Anderson had always hated that line: _we're all on the same side, here_. That he used it now told her, plainly, he was here because he was involved and needed her help. "You could have just asked, Anderson, and left the spook at home," she grumbled. "Saved him some impact marks."

Vakarian nodded once, looking irritable. If he had feathers, Tavia thought grimly, he'd look like a wet bird who wasn't happy about _being_ wet.

"Shepard, _I'm_ asking you," Anderson said firmly. "Come have a look at this beacon, answer Vakarian's questions, and… maybe we can give you some answers." He might have been asking, but it sounded more like he was trying not to issue orders with the expectation of her immediate capitulation.

Tavia understood the nuances, however. "To what questions?"

"Why your unit had to die," Vakarian put in. "Another investigation has turned up… several possibilities." He crossed his arms, talons clicking gently against one arm as he drummed them.

Tavia went white, her pupils dilating. "It wasn't an accident…?" She knew she'd just ruined her pretense of cold, unflinching steadiness.

"No. We don't think so," Vakarian answered briskly.

Tavia swallowed, her fingers tightening into fists, screams echoing in her mind. The lack of horror, the fact that it was only a dull ache, made her feel sick, guilty even. She should feel worse about the losses… but hot on the heels of those memories was the black press of dread from the Prothean artifact. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh, visible because of her shirt's short sleeves.

"I'll look at your beacon," Tavia said quietly. "In exchange for _everything_ you know or _guess_ about what happened to my unit." She swallowed hard. She'd play with the spook for _their_ sakes. If there was someone _responsible_ …

Her fingernails cut deeper; they'd draw blood if she wasn't careful. If there was someone responsible… she would find a way to hold them _accountable._ She trembled, a combination of fear and anger.

"Meet us at the spaceport in the morning. Zero seven hundred. Pack for a few days," Vakarian ordered. If he felt any surprise at the sudden reversal, he hid it well.

Tavia nodded, staring at her desk, brows furrowed. "I'll be there."

She nodded again to Anderson's polite goodbye as she waited for the door to close.

She dropped into her chair when it did, putting her head on her arms. No tears came, but she started miserably in the blind darkness. The beacon. Her unit. She knew with grim certainty that tonight was not going to be a productive night, as far as sleep went.

Garrus: Spectre

Garrus Vakarian strode out of the Bulldog Security home office with mixed feelings chasing one another around in his head. When he walked into the firm, he'd thought it would have been easier in some ways to just nab her. The cop part of him knew he'd been less than delicate, had gone in with the wrong mindset. Hindsight was twenty-twenty.

He would never admit it, but he deserved the slug… even if he didn't enjoy being shot. Part of him felt a little surprised she'd _done_ it. There were rules about shooting people on the Citadel; surely they had them here… and as a security firm surely she knew what they all were.

That said something to him.

Anderson, her former CO, had predicted that he, Garrus, would regret something that… dramatic.

It was true. After having seen her draw and shoot—the speed was incredible, the accuracy laudable—he acknowledged that he might have lost men in an attempt to 'nab' Shepard. She was not someone to be jerked around, and he found himself grimly thinking that she came across as being more like the popular impression of what Spectres were like than he did.

Right up until the end, when the possibility of answers, reasons, justifications for the loss of her men came up. In that moment she'd seemed more like a person and less like a… like a figurehead.

Figurehead behavior worked for her, though. She hadn't done badly for herself, if she had her own firm after only four years. The building was a handsome one, located in the bustling Vancouver business district. He'd driven past her home—had Anderson drive him past her home, he corrected himself—and admired it from the outside. It was a town home on a street of exactly similar units in a quiet neighborhood. He wouldn't have described it as the home of an affluent businesswoman, but something told him that Shepard probably lived well below her means.

Especially if she could say that an independent interest had not only contracted but moved a security team to Eden Prime so close to the disturbing events. It meant she was near the top of the list of go-to people. He didn't know what kind of soldier she had been, but he could say she impressed him as a very shrewd businesswoman.

As soon as he and Anderson were back in the car, he cued his headset and hit the playback of her post-Akuze interviews. As a Spectre, he'd found himself with access to a plethora of information he would not have otherwise had.

— _I didn't know what it was. It was just sitting there… forgotten… in a kind of-of room in a cave system. It was out of the sand and-and away from the-the—_

 _Take a deep breath, Commander. It's all right. Take your time._

 _Yeah. Yeah […] …um, big-big room, and the… the thing was there in the middle. I didn't know what it was or what it would_ do _. So I stayed away. Tried to do what I could for my injuries. They were… bad. [Audible gulp.] They tell me I'm lucky not to have lost the leg. I turned on my locater belt and just… waited. I don't know how long I was there._

 _How did you activate the beacon, Commander?_

 _I was hobbling around the room, trying to keep warm. It wasn't freezing in there, but it was cold. You know what sandy worlds are like. They're always cold at night._ _[…]_ _So I was there and I was hobbling around to warm up, and maybe work some of the discomfort out of my muscles. You know how it is when you sit too long in one position, or can't sprawl on your other side or move around too well._ _[…]_ _I got too close and it lit up. It was warmer within minutes. It was so cold and so dark outside…_

 _So you moved towards the light and warmth. An understandable reaction._

 _Yeah, I moved towards the beacon. The next thing I knew it grabbed me. Picked me up. Made me see-see things… it… it made losing my unit hurt less… but-but what it left was… worse._

 _So the beacon gave you visions?_

 _[…]_

 _Commander?_

 _[…]_ _It made me see things._

 _What did you see, Commander?_

 _[…]_

 _[…]_

 _I saw synthetics slaughtering organics. Butchering them._

 _Like… geth?_

 _No. Not geth. Something… worse… I think about it, try to make sense of it and I get this horrible feeling. It's cold, like dread, when you know you're being hunted and there's nothing you can do to stop it. And I find myself thinking that my unit is lucky… because they won't have to contend with it._

 _With what?_

 _With what's coming._

 _What's coming, Commander?_

… _I wish I knew. I just know that it is._

Garrus cut the interview. Shepard had grown progressively less and less coherent as her Alliance's people questioned her. It was a badly conducted interview, he thought. C-Sec would have either interviewed her several times or not pressed her harder the more incoherent she got. No wonder they thought she was raving: they pushed her to it. Any competent officer could see that. Human curiosity was sometimes more of a stumbling block than their species wanted to admit. It was useful, but sometimes counterproductive in the way it was expressed.

It was odd hearing the self-possessed, somewhat cranky cynic sounding like a frightened child. He'd heard that tone and stammer before, when he worked with C-Sec, always in the voices of victims of violence. Men. Women. Children. He knew the tone: _why did it happen to me? What did I do to make it happen?_

"Why'd she leave the Alliance?" Garrus asked, dropping some of the stiff formality he'd maintained in Shepard's presence. Garrus was many things, but lacking in compassion was not one of them. Cops needed it, even if it left them open to the suffering they saw.

"She didn't. She was medically retired," Anderson answered coldly.

Garrus pondered this. Was the tone that cold because he didn't like the way the meeting had gone, didn't like the question, or didn't like the answer he gave? He'd sensed some unresolved issues between the two soldiers, but decided not to pry. "Do you know if they treated her for the non-physical injuries?" Psychological scars could be worse than damaged limbs. Were usually worse, he corrected himself.

"They did their best," Anderson responded, "but it's hard to know how to treat something when you don't understand what it is."

They'd slapped a bit of medigel on her and given her to a shrink in hopes that the shrink could do something for her battered brain. She'd managed to pull herself together, though, and made herself something of a success.

Or so it appeared on the surface. On the one hand, he could understand the logic. On the other hand… it seemed sloppy and had cost them a high-investment operative. From what he understood an N7, a member of the ICT program, was one of the best trained, best honed weapons in the Alliance arsenal.

He made a note to have a medical team standing by… and a counselor, someone who could deal with Shepard—no, _help_ her, 'deal with her' was what the Alliance had done—if the damaged beacon did anything to her. He was tough, practical, and hoped to prove himself effective as a Spectre… but that didn't mean he lacked compassion.

Her words came back to him: _I saw synthetics slaughtering organics. Butchering them._

And now he had rogue geth and the possibility that a Spectre was involved. That didn't bode well, even if there was a fifty thousand year gap between the beacon's creation and the Eden Prime Incident.

He closed his eyes, the image of Nihlus Kryik lying face-down in a pool of his own blood and brain appeared as if etched onto the back of his eyelids. He shivered: if Nihlus hadn't already drafted the recommendation that he be inducted into the Spectres he might not be making headway in his investigation.

Spectres virtually untouchable by C-Sec. Everything was so classified and unless C-Sec kicked the door open to find a Spectre doing something heinous, anything defaming was likely to be overturned or 'taken under consideration' by the Council. He sometimes thought the reason for this was the Council simply not wanting to own it when their agents went off the preserve.

He barely noticed when Anderson stopped to provide identification to the MPs on duty, but it changed his train of thought.

The Alliance's involvement with Spectre business was complicated at best. It began with a warship—a joint venture—and the need for representatives of the other half of the venture. It continued now with the ship serving as his intergalactic taxi in return for the Alliance having some insight into the Eden Prime investigation.

That was what they _called_ it, and they had a foggier impression of what was going on than they thought they did. It helped that Anderson had a certain grudge for the prime suspect in this case; it made an otherwise resolute and unshakable Alliance captain easier to work with than Garrus expected.

It wasn't a coincidence, he thought, that Anderson was commanding this ship: Garrus knew what few others did, that Anderson had had a shot at joining the Spectres twenty years ago. A shot sabotaged—so he claimed—but the investigation's prime suspect, Saren Arterius. So far, Saren's involvement was based on circumstantial evidence at best, but Garrus' guts—those guts that had so frequently gotten him in trouble at C-Sec—screamed that Saren was as guilty as he was ugly.

Very.

"Tell me what kind of soldier Shepard was," Garrus declared thoughtfully.

"Dedicated. Brave. Loyal. I'd have brought her in as my XO if she still wore blues," Anderson answered simply. "It was a bad day when she was retired."

Garrus did not ask why she hadn't been shunted sideways into a non-combat role when she was obviously still competent and functional. There were plenty, goodness knew, in any military. Support personnel, pencil-pushers, hell, _instructors_.

Or maybe it was interfacing with the beacon had spooked her higher-ups and they'd armed themselves against a potential embarrassment by getting rid of her. No, _distancing themselves_ from her. They would be politic in their explanations if nothing else. It was odd though, because she'd never showed any signs of instability… she might have been a little more cautious afterward, might have been a little twitchy, but no more than anyone else dealing with traumatic experiences.

It had to be the fact that her traumatic experience was caused by a Prothean beacon. The loss of her unit was something the Alliance could have coped with. But Prothean tech… that would make people nervous. _Especially_ if they didn't know how to treat it or mitigate damages.

And humans didn't like asking for help any more than turians liked wearing white medical bandages. One didn't show an enemy where one's weak spots were.

"Just play straight with her, Vakarian," Anderson said as he parked the ground car.

Garrus did not answer this as he climbed out of the vehicle, glad to be able to stretch his long legs. Any groundcar _not_ designed for or by turians tended to be lacking in the legroom department. He would be glad to see a drop in vehicles' horsepower if it meant enough room to stretch his legs comfortably.

Car manufacturers clearly disagreed.


	2. Chapter 2

Tavia: Prep

Tavia arrived at her home feeling distinctly rumpled. So much so that, despite having gone to the grocery store, she decided it was just easier to order out. Which made the purchase of groceries a little silly, since she wouldn't be there for the next few days to use them. "Hey, boys," she announced as her two cats slunk into the room, clearly in the middle of some cat stealth mission.

Being allergic to cat dander, despite being a cat person, Tavia had compromised: she'd invested in the 'naked' cats—she could never remember their proper name—and taught them in kitten-hood to like water. Regular bath times were _not_ a problem for them, and her allergies remained under control.

The cats—Ante and Ace—abandoned their mission when she dropped into the nearest chair in favor of twining about her ankles or climbing her frame. Both were amply rewarded with gentle scratches or rubbed muzzles. "How about we order out tonight?" she asked, as Ante jumped to the floor.

Having to restructure the office's day-to-day business on short notice left her mentally drained. The idea of messing with more Prothean tech left her nauseous and wondering if it was really worth it…

It was. It had to be. Only the prospect of _answers_ , answers she'd waited five years for, beat back her doubts, made the risk worth it.

Her terminal in the other room pinged. "VI: who is it?" she asked loudly.

The VI responded, "The message is a secure communique from one Officer Vakarian."

Dammit.

Tavia forced herself to her feet, Ace having to jump out of her lap when it became apparent his warm weight was not enough to keep her sitting down. He grumbled, but followed her into her office, where he joined Ante in the cat hammock under her deskside table, glowering at her in affront.

The message was clipped, giving her a destination for the zero seven hundred appointment—not the civilian spaceport, but the one attached to the Vancouver military installation. All she had to do was show up at the front gate and an MP would be waiting to conduct her where she needed to be. There were a few other minor provisos and Tavia face-palmed, realizing that she needed, in addition to everything else, to find someone to feed her cats while she was gone.

She wouldn't be gone long enough to send them to a pet resort.

…or so she told herself, as she dialed her best friend, Sherry, who was most unfortunately a _dog_ person.

But she couldn't very well ask her tentative boyfriend, Russ, to come see to them. He'd never set foot in her home, nor she in his. They weren't that far along. Certainly not far enough along for her to trust him with her cats.

And she'd have to tell him she'd be out of town, probably out of communications as well. She wouldn't want him thinking she was avoiding him.

Preparing for this trip was rapidly becoming a monster. If it weren't for the promise of _answers_ —or, at least, reasons—for Akuze, she might have thrown up her hands and said 'screw it all.'

Part of her wondered if this short-notice timetable was some kind of weird Spectre test of her abilities.

Garrus: Ruminate

Garrus frowned at his terminal. Shepard's service record before Akuze was sterling. She was not the frontal assault type, but preferred to pick off targets at range while they focused their attentions elsewhere. If she couldn't do something marvelous with tech, she could blow it away at range.

Her unit, before they died, had a reputation for being the go-to people for delicate objectives with heavy resistance. Her team whittled away at an enemy while sending a handful of stealthy operatives to take care of business while the enemy worried about flying bullets. They'd been a well-oiled machine: slaver bases, hostage situations, disabling ships, ground assault, holding actions… the missions were not usually high profile—though there were one or two he'd heard of via the news, the names of the operatives having been withheld—but they were usually very effective. Objectives were always completed.

And then Akuze. He replayed her interviews, listened as she moved from the fearful jerkiness to the incoherence of someone pressed to talk about a particularly fresh ugly experience. Pushed beyond reason.

He felt a twinge of guilt at what he was asking her to do, which he immediately stowed away. Spectres didn't feel guilt and knew the value of necessity. It wasn't as though he was asking her to do it with no thought to the consequences.

Still…

His mind drifted back to Nihlus and Saren. Nihlus, who had trusted him, whose patronage with regards to Spectre candidacy had lifted him out of his father's arena, off the path Vakarian Sr. had wanted for his son. C-Sec had been a good start… but it was better now to be his own turian on his own path, without the shadow of his father touching every aspect of his life.

He remembered Nihlus' original assessment of his aptitude: _you've got spunk._ As if spunk was all it would take. Nihlus was a real taskmaster, a hardass, but a good mentor. Even if Garrus found himself feeling somewhat at sea with his so-called apprenticeship abruptly ended, he couldn't help hoping that once he could start _doing_ his job instead of laying ground work he'd stop feeling so… uncertain.

If he was uncertain, his father certainly had been. Vakarian Sr. had been within an inch of disowning his son, but he had too much sense to give way to intemperate behavior.

Another reason Garrus found himself feeling uncertain: he had something to prove to his father. And anyone who knew Garrus Auric Vakarian Sr. knew that changing his opinion was almost like trying to reorient a planet's gravitational field. It took a supreme effort… and probably wouldn't work.

Garrus sometimes wondered why he bothered. Except that it _chafed_ him that his father should be so confoundedly convinced of being _right_ that he never considered any point of view that ran anything but parallel to his own.

He tried to settle himself and found only fuming resentments.

It was good being free of the endless red tape… though there was more paperwork than he expected a Spectre to have to deal with. The Council might claim that they preferred to be hands-off in what their Spectres did, but they certainly expected reports on every little thing. Just in case they were bored, he decided, or needed bedtime or bathroom reading.

He didn't relish the idea of working with Shepard any more than he liked Anderson's constant hints about how best to deal with her. The meeting in her office hadn't gone well and he'd been glad of Anderson's presence… even if he found the man somewhat ineffective in bringing his former cohort to heel.

He sensed a few unresolved issues between the captain and the former lieutenant commander, but felt no need to pry or involve himself.

With any luck, Shepard's participation would be quick. That might be a hope they both shared.

Tavia: Guest

Tavia crossed the threshold of the Normandy's airlock at _exactly_ zero seven hundred hours. She'd noted the odd design of the ship, recognized its origins, but paid it little thought. She did not get worked up or hot and bothered over a _ship_ , as she'd lived her career by the acronym for marine: _my ass rides in navy equipment_. A ship was a ship. Its job was—had been—to get her and her team from Point A to Point B.

It felt strange to be surrounded by Alliance blues while she wore her usual clothes for assignments that took her away from her home office—an office now in the capable hands of her second in command, Jenga Schneider. Jenga—she refused to answer to her given name—treated the short notice rearranging of business as she treated everything, with a calm prosaic acceptance that clients inevitably found reassuring.

"Shepard."

Tavia nodded once, bit back the grimace as Vakarian appeared as if on cue. He didn't look any better this morning than he had the day before. He no longer wore plainclothes, but the more traditional working garb for a turian: armor. The blue suited him, she decided, as a fashion statement. It struck her as odd that they were both wearing blood colors: blue dextro, red levo. It was a morbid thought and she found its occurrence disturbing. She was not at all superstitious, but somehow it seemed oddly significant.

She countered the unsettling thought with something practical. "Where are we headed?"

"The Citadel," Vakarian answered. "Mr. Moreau, if you would?"

The pilot, Tavia noticed, rolled his eyes and seemed to bite back a huff of irritation, but complied. Clearly the Spectre had not concerned himself with his people skills. She had to wonder if he'd been like this while he was C-Sec, or if this was him deciding what kind of Spectre personality he wanted to have.

It was not a Spectre's job to be friendly and affable, but that was no excuse for being on the road to alienating one's support staff. And, whether the crew liked it or not, that was exactly what they were at the moment.

Tavia followed him down to the next floor, the mess deck, and into the mess hall. Her civilian attire drew looks but no comments. The red polo shirt with its blocky black 'Bulldog Security' and logo on the right sleeve stood out vividly among the crew's sedate blue. Again, it struck her as oddly symbolic: blue for the Spectre, blue for his support staff… red for the visitor. A flare of color for the major unknown variable.

Anderson was in the mess as well, looking a little tired but trying not to show it. "Morning, Shepard."

"Captain." Tavia glanced around the mess deck, taking in the long row of sleeper pods, the medbay with its big windows, the entertainment corner. How much had to be wrangled or finagled to permit her to set foot on this ship? She had a feeling it took a Spectre _and_ Anderson himself to manage it.

Civilians didn't belong on warships and, like it or not, she was a civilian now.

She nodded when informed that she should restrict herself to this deck unless otherwise accompanied, and that the trip shouldn't take too long. Apparently Spectres got priority passage at relays. Unsurprised, Tavia settled in an empty seat and pulled out a datapad.

Garrus: Morning

Garrus was surprised when Shepard turned down coffee, citing to Anderson that she'd 'gotten over' her addiction to the stuff. Maybe it was the early morning or maybe it was being in the public eye, but she certainly seemed less standoffish than she had the day before, speaking less and watching more before burying herself in her datapad.

Then he caught her eye and realized she was simply presenting her professional front and if he jerked her around today he would find her just as uncooperative as he had the day before, if not more so.

And, her expression seemed to suggest, he needed her a lot more than she needed him. With that, she went back to reading—this time for real, for he watched to see if her eyes tracked back and forth, which they did.

It was going to be a long few days. He had that sinking feeling.

But it would be worth it, he reminded himself, if she could offer some clarification about the beacon. He stroked a mandible thoughtfully with a thumb as he considered. The beacon was of interest to him only because it was of interest to whoever attacked the colony—he had to work hard not to say 'of enough interest to Saren to risk attacking a colony.' His investigation, however, was short on leads at the moment—hence his willingness to try this far flung idea of bringing Tavia into the investigation.

Not a good sign, but a man who attacked a colony, a well-established colony, would move again eventually. More than feeling at sea, he hated the idea of just waiting for another catastrophe, but his options at the moment were limited. Maybe his contacts on the Citadel would have turned something up since he was last there…


	3. Chapter 3

Tavia: Wait

Tavia disembarked from the Normandy into the Citadel's docking bay. It had been years since she was here—well, eighteen months. The place hadn't changed… but why should it? The Keepers tended to keep things well-maintained and C-Sec kept things more or less well-regulated.

She was silent as Vakarian passed her off to a C-Sec asari with instructions on what to do with her now she was here. Tavia was glad to get away from the turian, away from Anderson, and away from the Normandy. She'd gotten out of the habit of shipside accommodations and the sudden lack of personal space had left her feeling crowded and smothered.

Dread of the impending look at the beacon had also grown on her until she felt physically ill. The dark fear that the first beacon had impressed on her mind seemed to fight back against her attempts to shut it out, feeding on the new fear like fire fed on anything nearby that could give it a push.

The asari took her to an apartment block, claimed a key, and walked her up to it. Shepard recognized a C-Sec secure guest accommodation when she saw one. The blue officer took the whole babysitting assignment in stride, but Tavia found it off-putting, feeling oddly kenneled as her escort took her leave.

Tavia flopped onto the room's easy chair and scowled at the blank holovid display. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then did it again. Finally, she went over to her duffel bag and fished out her sketchbook and favorite pencil. She'd always had a knack for drawing, something cultivated as a child, but her technique had refined after Akuze when she'd needed a hobby to help her contend with long, dark nights.

She shivered. Darkness and cold. Two things she had trouble coping with, even now.

Garrus: Prep

Garrus wasn't sure what to think of the influx of messages in his inbox. Some were from the Council (or, rather, their aides and flunkies); some were from C-Sec (some congratulatory, some deprecating, some hoping he would play nice with his former comrades and three from friends giving him good-natured guff about his 'promotion'); some were from his contacts; and some of it was junk that had somehow slipped his filters.

Garrus actually knew Morlan—the originator of one of the spam messages—a shifty little salarian who ran a kiosk in the Wards. It seemed he was branching out a little if he was moving into the 'enhancement' market. Salarians were nothing if not good businessmen, he thought as he sent it flying through cyberspace and into his junk box.

Nothing but net, as his human colleagues would have said.

There didn't seem to be much new information on his case though, which worried him. Despite the jaunty assurance he displayed in public, he was beginning to feel more and more cornered by his own investigation. He was low on leads, his current project was questionable, and if he couldn't produce anything he just _knew_ he'd be reassigned.

And the thought of being reassigned while that maniac ricocheted around the galaxy pissed him off. It was one of the reasons he'd wanted to be a Spectre: so he could bring law to the lawless, make the shit stick, as it were.

The reality, it seemed, was somewhat different.

He found himself snarling at his messages box and waiting for confirmation that the damaged beacon had, in fact, been offloaded from the Normandy.

That had been one reason for sequestering Shepard on the mess deck: best not to let her get too close to that beacon before everything was in place. He could imagine her reaction of finding out she'd been on the same ship as the thing and it wouldn't have been pretty. She might not shoot him again but she could find something; she was ICT, after all.

Speaking of Shepard, he checked his list of things he had and had not yet done, found that making sure a that medical team—or at least a shrink—was on site had not yet been checked off. His guts said better safe than sorry.

After all, he wouldn't have asked a battery victim to face their attacker in court without some kind of moral support. Making sure there was a response team of anything went wrong seemed like about the same thing, in this case.

Tavia: Deja Vu

Tavia frowned at the room beyond the glass widow. It was a little too much like that chamber on Akuze, a big, empty space with next to no distinguishing features and the beacon right in the middle of it. That was the only thing it had with that far-away place, one being a carven in rocks the other being a room on a space station, but perception rendered them much the same in her mind.

This beacon was, in fact, damaged. More than that, it looked _exactly_ like the one that had ruined her life. She shivered at the idea of being this close, dreaded the thought of going anywhere near the thing. The original beacon had knocked her unconscious, a state in which she'd stayed until the rescue teams arrived and resuscitated her. For some time after, she'd been hazy and incoherent, often losing track of what she was doing, or bursting into uncontrollable sobs without any identifiable provocation. During that time, sleeping had been a hellish experience.

The attending physician hesitantly suggested it was just aftershocks of the beacon. The doctor's recommendation that Tavia finish stabilizing before being grilled about Akuze and the beacon was ignored, leaving her shaky and stumbling in her descriptions. She could still hear herself stammering, trying to convey ideas that grew progressively more hazy, more ephemeral… and more frightening. It was like trying to warn people about a bomb in the building without having all the words to describe the idea.

Nightmares like that were common—an emergency that couldn't be communicated, an attacker one couldn't escape. It was bad enough as a nightmare. She didn't think there was a word for it when it happened in real life.

She rubbed her hands together. Was it cold in here, or was it just her? She hated the cold.

She reached into her satchel, pulling out her sketchbook and pencil. It was one of the things her therapist from directly after Akuze had suggested: make use of a natural skill and just doodle or sketch or whatever she felt comfortable doing when the anxiety or worry got to be too much.

She knew the therapist had meant well, but a combination of being faced with damage she neither understood nor trained for, as well as Tavia's own reluctance to talk about the experience left them both in poor places from which to make any progress. Specifically was Tavia's reluctance to talk about the beacon and what it made her see—or, rather, how it left her feeling. She realized, quickly, that she tended to end up raving about invisible shadows, hidden terrors that she was aware of but which no one else could see.

She'd developed a certain fondness for movies in which the protagonists could see things others couldn't. The only difference was that they were eventually vindicated and a viewer knew they would be, would have to be, while she… she had to stifle the fears or risk something worse than ejection from the Alliance military.

A padded cell, for instance.

She shivered as she always did at the thought. She _knew_ she wasn't crazy… so she kept anything that might be misconstrued as crazy to herself. It was hard sometimes, painful. It wasn't something she could share with people she wanted to be close to. Maybe that was one reason her relationships usually fell apart: it was a big ugly secret, the exposure or keeping of which inevitably created invisible wedges.

"All right," Vakarian banged his hands together as he strode in. The two sounds made her jump, sending a jagged slash of graphite across the page she'd been doodling absently on. Looking down, she found herself, once again, reconstructing a thresher maw looming over sandy dunes, a crashed shuttle and… body parts… sticking out of the sand.

Except for the thresher maw and its shadow, it was an image straight out of memory.

She closed the notebook but held onto it, tucking her pencil behind her ear. She liked the reassurance of the book's edges cutting into her hands. The pain seemed to root her in reality when fear of the unknown loomed above her.

Several people filed in behind Vakarian and she knew, instinctively by the way they all studied her, that they were head-doctors or something similar.

What good were they? Was he expecting a psychotic episode? She sighed, but got to her feet. If they were going to do this, they should just get it over with.

Garrus: Cruel

Garrus watched Shepard's knuckles blanch as she held onto her book, noted the dark look of resignation she cast at the team—the aftermath team as he thought of them—assembled in the increasingly too-small observation room. Clearly she didn't understand the intention of having them here.

Nevertheless, she said nothing, merely looked back at the beacon, biting the inside of her lower lip as if she were looking into the face of death.

Despite the fact that they all pretended otherwise, Garrus felt certain everyone involved knew what had to happen: she'd have to see if the beacon still worked. Careful handling had produced no unexpected contact with the science team, but there was no guarantee that would hold true with Shepard. He harbored the hope that her being touched by this kind of Prothean tech before might yield some result no one else could achieve.

"That look like your beacon?" he asked.

"Yes."

The one word answer was all he got, no elaboration, no description of differences or similarities, just 'yes.' She waited where she stood, staring at the device. The sour tang of human fear made his nose scrunch up.

"Is it cold in here, or is it just me?" Shepard's tone remained even, but Garrus caught the undertone.

It was one of the things in her post-Akuze interviews: a repeated concern over temperature which had grown worse the more incoherent she got. Notes attached to those old interviews indicated the room temperatures had been uncomfortable for the interrogators but Shepard could clearly be heard shivering as if it was freezing.

"We can up the temperature if you'd like," he responded blandly.

She didn't answer him, almost as if she hadn't realized she'd asked the question. Her attention remained fixed on the beacon as if waiting for it to do something she could react to. Something that would allow her to destroy it before it destroyed her; he'd seen it on new recruits in standoff situations.

"Do you want to go in now?" he asked as gently as he could.

She turned and cast him an icy look of disapproval. "Not particularly." But she walked over to the door, wrenched it open and, sketchbook in hand, stepped into the adjacent chamber, pulling the door shut behind her with more force than was needed.

She must want those Akuze answers more desperately than he thought, than she'd given the impression of wanting them.

She stopped about six feet back from the beacon, her back to the observation room. It took a moment, but he realized she was doodling in her sketchbook. He reached over to cue the intercom, but the psychologist spoke up, "Sir, I wouldn't push her if this is a second exposure. Let her take her time. It'll be safer for her."

He withdrew his hand, chagrined at having to wait but accepting that the psychologist knew her subject matter—she'd made a job of it, after all—better than he did. And, he thought grimly, it was a little callous of him. He wasn't callous by nature. Impatient, yes, but not callous.

He dropped into the seat Shepard abandoned when she went into the other room and watched as she closed her sketchbook and began to track warily back and forth. She didn't get any closer to the beacon, seemed to be fighting with herself—and losing—in the battle to do what was expected of her.

"She's looking bad," Anderson noted some time later, his tone heavy with concern.

Garrus squinted, caught the change in tone of her polo shirt, evidence of profuse sweating. Despite that, she kept chafing her arms as if she were cold. "Opinion?" he turned in his chair to the psychologist.

The asari stepped up to the glass, the better to observe. "I'd say she's flashing back, maybe. Wrestling with old demons."

"Is she winning?" Garrus asked dubiously.

"It's not like fighting through pain," the psychologist pointed out, a little reprovingly and with a glare to match. "Without a full picture of what went on, I can only guess so much. But I hope this was truly necessary. Otherwise it's just cruel."

"It's necessary," Garrus responded flatly, watching as Shepard finally managed to get a step closer to the beacon… and then stalled again, seeming to fight the urge to back away.

It was almost an hour before Shepard came within touching distance of the beacon. Garrus had begun to employ the distancing techniques he'd learned while with C-Sec, to desensitize himself to the suffering of another so he could do his job.

By now he could watch her impassively as she struggled.

Without the trained impassivity, it would have been a grueling thing to watch her force her way forward, distress mounting with every step. By now her breaths made her show body heave, as if she'd been exercising hard or was stuck in a low-oxygen environment.

Without that trained impassivity, he might have called the whole exercise off, even if it meant letting go of possibly valuable insight. He knew Anderson and the psychologist would have voted that calling things off was the right thing to do—she was in too far to back out and probably would have agreed if asked. Making all this wasted effort would be just as cruel as pushing her into the situation.

She looked a pathetic figure, soaked in sweat, her hair plastered to her head, skin shining with it. And she shook incessantly, despite the fact that they'd raised the temperature in the room as high as the techs would permit. He could only assume, and the psychologist bore him out in this, that some part of her mind was replaying Akuze's temperature conditions.

Tavia: Scrambled

Tavia looked at the slick grey surface of the beacon, not unlike the graphite in her now-useless pencil. She'd doodled away until all she could get were scratch marks on her paper.

The beacon wasn't glowing, and she was much closer than it had taken on Akuze to trigger… whatever it was. Maybe, just maybe, everything was alright, maybe it was dead and she was afraid for nothing…

…but the thought made her cringe all the harder.

She stank of stress-sweat, was coated in it, freezing because of it. She wanted a hot shower, to go curl up in a little ball under thick blankets in an overheated room and wait for the chill and the darkness that seemed to fog the corners of her vision to pass. In an ideal world, Ace and Ante would have been there to curl up comfortingly nearby, purring at her distress.

It was dead, she told herself, inert. She couldn't feel that strange buzz she had on Akuze, the buzz that made every hair on her body stand up. She shuddered at the memory. Her knee ached. Her shoulder ached. Her skin remembered the horrible burns.

Why was it so damn cold in here?

She could feel tear tracks on her face, feel her features twitch and quake as if they might slide off, leaving her with nothing but a department store manikin's blank expanse.

It was for them, though. For her unit. She needed answers. She needed to know why they'd had to die when she should have died with them. She didn't think any other motivation could have bought her the courage to close that last bit of distance.

With a low whimper in the back of her throat, she shot out her free hand, pressing it flat against the stone. The effort was violent, wrenched out of her before the brief flare of courage brought on by the parade of the names, of the faces, of those forty-nine dead men and women could fade.

Nothing happened. For a moment glorious relief washed over her. Nothing happened—

And then there it was: the electrical field that made her hair stand up. The skin of her palm grew suddenly hot, the sensations of pain, burnt flesh, and damaged joints, of cold and darkness, reared up to swallow her whole.

She saw it again; she saw it all again. The images made no real sense, and this time there was something wrong, something horribly wrong, like a pencil gouging through a drawing because of uneven pressure, leaving a sporadic pattern of gouges, grooves, and graphite.

She heard a scream. It might have been hers. It might have been the collective screams of her unit. Or maybe it was the thresher maws' hunting screams. It might have been something within the beacon. Screams and darkness and death…

…and everything was cold.

Garrus: Damaged

Garrus' stomach had just dropped with a mix of relief and disappointment when Shepard shot out a hand and planted it against the damaged beacon. The gesture was similar to one she might have used when telling someone 'step back,' prelude to an actual blow to enforce the command.

Nothing happened. The beacon really was inert—which was a relief and a disappointment at the same time. He'd have to think, later, about which had precedence.

Suddenly the beacon stuttered, green light flickering like a light that couldn't get enough power to stay on.

Garrus' mouth dropped open, his mandibles waving in surprise.

Beside him, Anderson swore inaudibly, putting a hand on the glass as if he could somehow stop what was going on in the other room.

Shepard shouted, a strangled kind of scream that seemed to tear itself out of the back of her throat as she went rigid. At this true sign of distress, the observation room burst into commotion.

"Get her out of there!" Anderson barked, his dark features etched with anger… and guilt.

"Stay! Put!" Garrus barked, reaching out to snag one of the science techs by the back of the jacket.

By now Shepard was shaking, convulsing. The beacon seemed to be trying to lift her off the ground, but couldn't seem to manage it. It was broken and she was interfaced with it. Breaking her loose, which was what Anderson seemed inclined to do in spite of what Garrus might say, might just make it worse.

That the old soldier didn't try to follow through showed he knew as well as Garrus did how dangerous trying to drag Shepard out of trouble would be.

Suddenly the beacon shut down altogether, powering down and letting Shepard drop to the floor. She remained crumpled in a hummock, still shaking and twitching, breath jerking.

"All right, med staff only." And himself, of course, though he noticed a mutinous-looking Anderson came with the group. That was… permissible. After all, Anderson was the Alliance rep and someone familiar to Shepard ought to be there. It was common decency.

Carefully as a parent with a sick child, Anderson eased her onto her back and straightened her limbs. From the way he remained crouched beside her it was clear that he had usurped the responsibility of deciding what was and was not good for his former protégé.

And if Anderson didn't think something Garrus wanted was good for her, not even the title 'Spectre' would be allowed to contradict him. That was, at least, what the look Anderson shot him said quite explicitly.

Shepard was a mess; drenched in sweat she shook and jerked like a severed electrical wire. Her eyes were wide open, too wide and seemed stuck that way… stuck open but unseeing. Her mouth moved in tiny little jerks and twitches as if she was whispering to herself, but no actual sound came out. Tears leaked from her eyes—which, as they fell, Anderson patted away with a scrap of cloth he pulled from a pocket.

It seemed to Garrus that he was looking at the textbook picture of terror-induced catalepsy.

The medical staff argued and chattered about her vital signs, erratic and elevated. Although Anderson didn't give them the same nasty look he'd given Garrus, the doctors seemed quite aware of the fact that Anderson had put on his good officer hat and was going to protect his downed marine.

Maybe he felt it all the more necessary since he hadn't been there to do it the last time she'd really needed him.

Garrus found himself frowning at Shepard's skin, which had gone pasty white, the blue veins standing out starkly, the red of blood-rich regions—lips, ears, the fleshy part of her nose—seemed to glow. She looked truly grotesque… but it was a pitiable kind of grotesque.

Slowly, under the influence of the med staff's chemical ministrations, the rigid muscles in her body began to relax, though her eyes remained riveted open, still blank and unseeing.

"I hope this was worth it," Anderson said darkly—darkly but not condemningly—smoothing Shepard's hair back from her forehead as the medics loaded her onto a stretcher. He knew that necessity sometimes demanded unpleasantness. He didn't have to like it, and he certainly went to no lengths to pretend even the neutrality of acceptance.

Neither of them likes it, and Garrus found himself hoping that necessity would bear something that would make it worth the suffering before him. His desire to be a good Spectre—disconnected and professional—failed as he watched the med staff stand up with their ruined load.

He'd always hated having to be with or around victims of violent crimes. More accurately, he'd hated having to be there while they suffered, unable to do anything immediate to help them—and by 'help' he meant 'make it so they didn't have to worry about whatever scumbag had hurt them.' The helplessness to provide meaningful help, to take decisive action, was always the worst part of being a C-Sec officer.

And, wasn't it ironic, that as a Spectre he seemed to be doing more or less the same as he had while working with Citadel Security Services?

Tavia: Hindrance and Help

Tavia's sense of self, of surroundings, came back like a microscope slowly focusing.

She ranted and screamed at the med staff to leave her alone. Her language on those early occasions had been so expletive laced and abusive that her usual more moderated mindset would have cringed.

Had she been in a condition to do so, she would have said it was as if the Alliance's fears about her mental stability had all been realized at once.

The techs had compensated with sedatives which only made the nightmares worse, made her fight to retain consciousness all the harder, and the fight to dominate her own mind left her angrier than ever.

But no one wanted to hear 'I don't need to sleep.'

Vakarian came to talk to her several times with varying results. The first time she'd been just as abusive and foul-mouthed as she had been to the tech staff. He'd pissed her off—not difficult at the time—and she'd thrown something at him.

Maybe more than one thing, and had screamed a little more. The only thing that stopped the tirade was that, by that point, her throat had grown too hoarse to keep up any such vocal exertions for long.

The sedatives had stopped after that visit and her world had begun to come into focus. She hurt all over, memory of the pains of Akuze somehow made horribly real again.

Vakarian came back the next day only to find her sullen and resentful, irritable and prone to extreme reactions. He'd been asking her questions.

She didn't know if she hated the questions because she had answers or if she didn't… or if she had them and couldn't _get_ to them.

Any chemical interference stopped after he left, leaving her to deal with her demons and phantom pains on her own. Without fighting or compensating for the drugs that were supposed to help, she found sanity and rationale trickling back. But they came slowly, because sleep was now plagued with nightmares, worse than ever because instead of a simple nondescript black dread—something she had learned to live with and with which she could have coped even in its renewed state—there were sharp snippets of imagery within the black. They leered at her like fiends and demons out of a black pit, and she had their full attention.

Vakarian came back the third day with only one very gentle question: did she want her sketchbook?

It was immediately produced when she said 'yes,' and he went away again.

Things got better after the sketchbook was in her hands. She understood now what it was to be obsessive compulsive. She had to make sense of the fragments in her mind and there was only one way to do that. She wore out the graphite of her pencil, then staggered about in desperation her suite looking for something else, eventually raging at the observers—there had to be observers—that if they could dope her up on drugs they could find her a damn pencil.

A marker.

A _crayon_.

Having her notebook had unleashed something, been like a path of least resistance for whatever was in her head, filling it to the point that she feared her skull might crack from the immensity of it.

She sketched and drew and refined sketches. Ideas bled from her mind onto the paper, but the paper wasn't big enough… so she found the first liquid that would stay on the wall and finger-painted on the plastiglass window behind which the observers lurked. The articulations were clumsy—liquids in a hospital were never meant to be used as finger-paint.

She knew, in some corner of her mind, she'd finally gone crazy. But she couldn't mourn the loss of sanity or really think about it because big ideas crowded together painfully, trying to move from head to hand and finding nothing capable of capturing them. So they stayed put, filling her too full. It would have been such a relief to just explode and let it all come rushing out, but it never happened.

So she reapplied herself to her macabre media and subject matter. Maybe she could work the crazy out…

Garrus: Breakthrough

Garrus watched as Shepard slowly sank to the floor. It had been like this since she'd been physically well enough to get up. She'd work in her sketchbook or smear the walls with… whatever that goo was… until exhaustion overcame her and she slumped into nightmare-laced sleep. Then she'd get up and continue her grotesque expression with vivid eyed desperation.

He'd never seen this sort of crazed obsession before, but he'd seen the distress, the need to scream and get something out of her and into the air, somewhere it could be dealt with… but whatever it was was stuck.

It chewed at his conscience that this was his doing. The med staff was getting antsy, wanted to move her… put her somewhere 'safe.'

And there was no fruit from having exposed her to the beacon. Nothing useful, just a shattered shell. Even the psychologist didn't know what to do. He'd found another and she didn't know what to do either.

He knew Anderson was angry about this, angrier than he let on. The old marine came every day, stayed for an hour, then left. He performed the ritual like a man doing penance.

Garrus didn't blame him. He'd begun to feel _guilty_ , since he'd done this on the slim hope that something might come of it.

Silently, and for the first time in days, he entered the room, tugged the blanket off Shepard's cot and draped it across her twitching form before frowning at the liquid-smeared window. He squinted at the subjects, inarticulate where the goo had slipped along the vertical plane it was on, then his eyes widened.

Viewed from Shepard's side of the window, among the liquid smears, was something he recognized very clearly. A long shape with many arms or fingers. It wasn't a static image, either, it seemed to be reaching out to him, the perspective excellent.

Garrus looked around for Shepard's sketchbook, found it thrown to one side as if she couldn't make it do what she wanted. The pages were almost full, jumbles and scribbles, most of which seemed attempts to make sense of things she couldn't actually mentally picture.

But the ship was there. Over and over and over again. As the psychosis became more and more evident in the scribbles, words began to appear until, finally, on the last page, was an incredibly intricate render of the ship with the word REAPER written in gouged letters over and over across the page. The word contained all the frustration in Shepard's average build at the moment she'd flung the book away from her in disgust.

Garrus looked from the book to the wall to Shepard and back, a strange idea coming to him. He flicked back through her notebook watching how, at the beginning there was order—pre-beacon exposure—then how there were lots of little tiny thumbnail images, images which grew bigger and bigger until they no longer fit on the pages. He looked at the wall. Pictures started small then got bigger…

It almost seemed as if the idea she needed to express was too big for the space she had, and each time she had to start over, frustration increased.

He knelt beside Shepard, gently shook her shoulder. She was so far gone that although her eyes were cracked open, he wasn't sure she could see him. "Shep—Tavia?" he asked softly, speaking as he might to a traumatized child. "Do I need to find you a bigger piece of paper?"

Her grey eyes opened fully, glimmers of lucidity behind them rather than the crazed mania. "Yes." Her eyes fell shut again and she dropped back to sleep.

Tavia: Empty

Tavia felt the psychosis break, felt the desperate drive to force thoughts out of her head and into a tangible form finally cease. She felt like a wrung-out washcloth as she lay on the cold, paper-covered floor; strangely enough it felt _good_. Sanity-restoring. She felt _tired_ and less afraid of sleep than she had for… how long?

They had moved her into a new room, a room covered in what she vaguely recognized as butcher paper. Even now, she could run her finger sin circles over the uneven surface and found it as comforting as the skin of her cats when she stroked their backs. The smell of butcher paper and graphite had memories of a happy child attached to it.

Vakarian was there, had overseen the move, him and the nameless asari who'd begun tagging along. He'd handed her a graphite stick, gingerly placed several more on the floor and stepped back to wait by the door. She'd looked at the graphite, dropped to her knees and began sketching in broad sweeping strokes.

As she looked at it, even form her worm's eye view, the drawings reminded her of a storyboard for a movie, with lots and lots of black or blank panels. Very few things were definite, partly because they weren't definite in her mind, partly because of the graphite chunks' size. But when she'd sharply and bluntly demanded 'pencil' she'd gotten one—several, and artist's pencils at that. Pencils that needed to be sharpened periodically, and which the nameless asari managed for her.

That was fine; it meant her train of thought was less disrupted.

The asari was still there, sitting with her knees drawn up, pencils in one hand, pencil sharpener in the other, waiting to be commanded 'pencil.'

It was the pencil that made the last image in the cascade of pictures so horrible. It was the horrible part. The synthetics butchering organics had been bad… but something about the ship with its long fingers and bright 'eyes' left her certain that _this_ was the cause of the deep dark dread and that everything else was a side effect of this ugly ship.

The pictures were enormous, on the walls, on the floor… but they were finally _out_ of her. this had to be what an inflated balloon felt like after all the air had been let out, once it stopped zipping around the room and fell to the floor…

"What can you tell me about this?" Vakarian asked, tapping a talon on the ship as he crouched beside her. He'd joined the asari at some point, keeping carefully out of the way. There had to have been a substantial amount of time between her finishing and his question… but she found she had no perception of how long 'substantial' meant.

"I can't," she tried to shake her head but couldn't, so she sat up dazedly. "I just know I've seen it before… like seeing it again made it clear in my head…" She shuddered, unsure what to think when the turian prowled over and squatted beside her, gently patting her shoulder until the spasms passed. "It's the same thing… I think. As the last beacon. I see this…" she tapped the ship, "and I feel like I've seen it before. Reaching out for me."

"I've seen it, too," Vakarian answered quietly.

"Where?" she demanded sharply. She turned so fast she lost her balance and toppled from kneeling to land on her hip, which hurt. The pain brought back some sharpness to her previously flabby thoughts. Her mind ached, but strained to catch his answer. He'd… seen?

"On Eden Prime," he answered in a low undertone.

"I'm not crazy?" she asked, her tone even sharper with hope and fear. The relief that threatened to surge through her made her shake as she tried to hold it back. It had been bad enough being expelled from the Alliance for the possibility of mental instability—dressed up to avoid the fact that it was Prothean tech-caused, if it existed at all. The idea of losing everything now that the instability showed… that was going to kill her. She just knew it.

She couldn't quite bring herself to blame Vakarian for this. Not in earnest. After all, hadn't she agreed, knowing there were risks?

"I hope not," Vakarian answered abstractedly, his beady blue eyes fixed on her.

"I feel sick." She didn't care that, at one time, she would have disdained admitting it. She felt _very_ ill and the smell of old whatever-that-goo-on-her-hands-was was beginning to turn her stomach.

"Of course you do. This is Lina," Vakarian motioned the asari of the past few days over as he carefully helped Tavia to her feet. Goodness knew she needed it: her bad knee threatened to crumple under her, pain screaming through it—even though she felt sure the pain was all in her head and not at all in joint and muscle. "She's going to try to help you."

Tavia nodded, looking at her hands, still covered in crusted goo. Tears stung her eyes at this proof of insanity… and with hope that maybe that wasn't what it was at all.

Garrus: Necessary

Garrus watched Shepard submit meekly to the psychologist's prompting that they should go somewhere more comfortable and get her cleaned up. Once Shepard was gone, he looked at the display of images again. Most of them were fairly valueless, being so abstract and without context, but the ship haunted him.

The fact that a record of it, or something like it, existed in a fifty thousand year old Prothean beacon disturbed him deeply. What was the Eden Prime vessel? Where did it come from? Where was it found? Was it Prothean itself, and Shepard's distress simply due to the beacon's violent interface with her mind?

He didn't really think it was Prothean; that answer made no sense.

He did have to try to quell the guilt. If he'd known what it would do to her… he might not have pushed trying it. He'd never seen insanity like that, but he'd seen enough victims to recognize one… and this one was his fault. She'd been mentally brutalized—and he'd avoided that wording desperately—and it was his doing.

But in her notebook, over and over, the text growing progressively bigger was the word REAPER. Was that just something pinging around in her muddled mind, or was it directly pertinent to all this? He looked around again, noted that some of the edges of her drawings were formed by the word "REAPER" written over and over again in tiny utilitarian letters, not unlike typeset.

It was a starting place, a crumb in the trail of breadcrumbs—which was a nicer way to describe it than his own people's idiom 'a drop in the blood trail'—that his human C-Sec comrades liked to invoke.

He couldn't angst over Shepard's predicament, lamentable as it was, he reminded himself firmly. He had a job. He needed to be able to do it…

Or so he tried to convince himself.

Tavia: Submit

Tavia cooperated with the psychologist, Lina. As much as anyone, she wanted to know why she was no longer a gibbering wreck, but it seemed that Lina had no answers for her.

And it obviously troubled the asari, which troubled Tavia more.

But after how many days of incoherence and insanity, she felt absolutely normal. The dark dread was back in place, the demons lurking in it had withdrawn out of sight into the darkness, the ache of Akuze's losses was back, her rationale and reason were back. The only difference was that she sometimes though she caught flashes from the beacon's stream of images.

It was like a flashbang, she'd announced to Lina. It blasted her senses to white blankness and whistling noises, then wore off over time. Then again, as Tavia hastened to add, she wasn't a shrink so _her_ opinion was next to worthless.

Fun as this was, though, could she go home—to that apartment she'd been in previously—now?

At the end of the third day, Lina allowed it, and Tavia was happy to be free (well, freer).


	4. Chapter 4

Garrus: Resilience

Garrus' mandibles twitched as he studied the Council. They did _not_ look pleased, Sparatus in particular.

"What I'm having difficulty with," Sparatus frowned, "is whether or not you're wasting our time, Spectre. Are you or are you not accusing Saren Arterius of… something?"

Tevos nodded, her mouth pursed into a thin line he knew she would never let the press see. It was an impressive frown; he didn't know that many muscles could be used to pull a soft face into such a severe expression.

"I'm simply saying he is a person of interest in my investigation into the destruction of the Prothean beacon and the murder of Nihlus Kryik on Eden Prime," Garrus answered carefully.

Double jeopardy was _such_ a bitch and he'd seen it as a stumbling block often enough to want to avoid letting Saren use it as a shield later on. At the very least, he wanted Saren out of the field and somewhere that hands could be laid on him if need be.

"And I am still failing to see how Saren is implicated. Because Nihlus had his back to his attacker?" Tevos asked archly.

"Because I have an eyewitness who described Saren quite accurately," Garrus answered, trying to hang onto the impatience that had been such a stumbling block for him at C-Sec.

Sparatus gave a coughing sound that, among turians, served as the all-purpose snort of humans and asari. "To a human all turians look alike."

"Except that Saren is considerably ugly enough to be highly distinctive to even unobservant persons," Garrus snapped before he could stop himself. It was true, too…

The air room turned the consistency of his favorite cold custard pastry filling… only vastly less pleasant.

Oops.

"One dock worker," Valern said sternly, pulling Garrus out of trouble but without relieving him of his _faux pas_.

"Not just one dock worker." Garrus moved closer to the table behind which they sat and set Shepard's sketchbook and a datapad containing holos of her 'sketch room.' "I have an individual who has been exposed to not one but two Prothean beacons—one on Akuze a few years ago, and the beacon recovered from Eden Prime."

"Is _that_ why it's broken?" Sparatus demanded, frowning. "Because you let a human play with it?"

'Play with it.' Garrus' mandibles tightened along his jaw. They hadn't seen what that thing did to her but he had and the words rasped at his nerves. Maybe that was for the best that they hadn't seen and didn't know. "The point is that whatever information it contained it passed it—or part of it—to her."

He opened the book to the folded-over page (Tevos with relative generosity employed her fingers to keep the book open without being asked) and flipped to the proper holo, shown side-by-side with his own self-taken holos from Eden Prime. "There's a record of this ship or one just like it fifty-thousand years ago. Saren on Eden Prime, this ship on Eden Prime… surely that's enough to at least discreetly keep an eye on him."

"Tavia Shepard," Tevos mused, peering at the name written neatly on the front cover of the book.

"Former Alliance. She was… retired… after being deemed unfit to continue her duties due to injury after the Akuze Massacre," Garrus elaborated. "She owns a security firm, now and a successful one at that."

The Councilors fell silent as they flipped through the holos and Shepard's sketchbook.

Finally, Sparatus looked up. "You want me to detain Spectre Arterius based on a traumatized dockworker's testimony and the 'visions' of a woman who has been mentally brutalized not once but twice?" he asked grimly, then gave a soft cough when Garrus betrayed surprise. "Contrary to popular belief, we _do_ read the reports our agents file."

The word 'brutalized' made Garrus want to flinch. It was an ugly word and if he was honest he'd been avoiding it whenever possible.

"I'm beginning to think I understand the concerns your superiors raised about you before Nihlus took you on," Sparatus said, turning the holopad and taking the sketchbook from Valern. He stacked them, one on top of the other, and pushed them with one finger back to Garrus. "This isn't C-Sec, Vakarian. If you have to convene us for an investigation we expect something _solid_ and actionable."

Garrus somehow doubted putting Saren in the hospital was a viable way of keeping the man where he could get to him.

"If you cannot conduct the Eden Prime investigation in a professional and practical manner, you will be reassigned," Sparatus finished darkly, nods from Tevos and Valern indicating this was the general opinion and not just Sparatus'. "Now, do you wish to relinquish this investigation to a senior operative?"

"No, sir," Garrus answered bitterly, the words jerking out of him.

"Very well. You are dismissed. Carry on."

Garrus inclined his head as politely as he could, considering he felt like snarling at them as he'd been known to do to Pallin and his father, then snatched up the sketchbook and the datapad. With no further ado and in no angelic temper, he stomped out of the Council's meeting room.

It was a good thing doors hissed closed here. He might have slammed it behind him and that was no good impression to leave behind.

He arrived at his office to find Shepard's asari psychiatrist, Lina, waiting for him.

"What are you doing here? Where's Shepard?" It was the first time in days he'd thought about Shepard as a person and not as an idea. Perhaps _that_ was why Sparatus use of the word 'brutalized' had hit him like a punch. He felt another pang of guilt over leaving her open to that, especially since it seemed to have been wasted effort. He glanced at the sketchbook, knowing full well it would remain in his evidence locker until it didn't need to be there anymore.

He made a mental note to replace it for her. It was the least he could do. Maybe ask someone who knew about this stuff to find her a nicer one to replace it with.

"She's fine," Lina declared irritably.

Garrus recognized professional irritation as opposed to personal irritation. Doctors were the same way when they couldn't explain why a patient mysteriously got better when they really, truly, had been ill. Or dying. "Fine? What do you mean _fine_?" he demanded.

"As in…" Lina shook her head then waved her hands vaguely and unhelpfully. "Look, I've been practicing psychology for nearly four hundred years and I have _never_ seen someone with such an obvious instability go back to perfect pre-trigger form. Brain scans, personality tests, _everything_ I can think of to do turns up a completely normal response with no sign of any trauma from anything more recent than Akuze. From what I can tell, she's back where she started— _exactly_ where she started—before she was exposed to the beacon." Lina dropped into the chair, putting her face in her hands. "I don't know. It's almost like… like a flashbang for the mind. You get overloaded and then the effects wear off. That was how she described it and I being to think that's the best answer we're going to get."

Garrus settled back in his chair. "Where is she now?"

"I sent her back to her apartment. There's a C-Sec officer with her. I figured you wouldn't object, so I name-dropped," Lina responded, regarding her fingernails. "I _hate_ dealing with Prothean tech," she declared, apropos of nothing, her blue face twisting in disgust. "Half the time it doesn't work and half the time it works but only muddies things. There's nothing more I can do for Tavia. If you're _really_ curious, you'd need a Prothean expert. Preferably an _asari_ Prothean expert. See if she couldn't rattle something in Tavia's head loose. "

Garrus had a vivid mental image of Shepard shooting him for real if he suggested it. Surprisingly, the thought made him smile.

Tavia: N7

Tavia woke up with a start, body tense, her breathing fast. She'd been in the middle of one of her muddled, nondescript nightmares, but the thing that woke her had been outside of it. Slowly, carefully, she slid out of bed, listening hard in the darkness as she prowled to stand by the door, pressing herself against the wall.

It had been, so she thought, a short, sharp cry, a muffled sound she'd heard through her door. The apartment that had become her designated 'home' until Vakarian followed through with his promise about the new information about Akuze was hot and stuffy. The whole place beyond her dark bedroom was brightly lit. She didn't like bright lights where she was trying to sleep, but she couldn't bear sleeping in the pitch black.

Cold and darkness. She had trouble handling both. As a result, she usually left her door ajar and now was no exception.

She listened, heard the footsteps of armored feet that shouldn't be there. Her stomach clenched. She wasn't allowed to carry a weapon on the Citadel, which meant her options were excessively limited. She had one opportunity to do this, she thought. Adrenaline began to dump in her blood, the calm of the well-trained settling into place, shoving fear to one side.

Coming from a bright environment into a darker one, an attacker would need a moment… unless he or she was a wearing night-vision filter.

The would-be assailant was.

"She's not here!" Came the hushed call as the man pushed his way into the room. If she'd been in the bathroom she probably wouldn't have heard him.

Tavia acted with all the speed she could muster, ignoring any weakness in her knee. She grabbed his rifle using the door as a lever to wrench it free of his hands. She didn't have time to turn it to fire it so she bashed him in the face with, shattering the visor on his helmet. She turned the weapon, her arm tangling in the sling with expert proficiency. One three round burst put him out of the world and left her standing in a dark room with an unknown number of assailants on the other side of the wall.

The wall…

She threw herself to the ground and low-crawled towards the small bathroom adjacent to her bedroom. Bullets peppered the wall against which she'd been standing, tearing through the structure and suggesting these people were not concerned about collateral damages.

She sat down, took a steadying breath. They'd have to come in and check for her body and for that of their cohort. Now that the initial adrenaline burst had passed, she found it easy to think. It was jsut like training; just like something she would have found in her real job.

"Did we get her?" one muffled voice asked, apparently nervous. Clearly she'd though this would be an easy kill.

"She's a damn cripple," a turian voice responded. "Taking out Chuck was just luck."

Cripple? Heat flashed through her. She had a _minor mobility issue_. She was _not_ a cripple. She gritted her teeth, then took a breath to still the shakes, to quell the resentment that might interfere with her aim. The rifle was a standard-issue piece of crap, but it would do its job.

And they wouldn't be looking for her, sitting on the ground as she was. Not immediately, anyway.

A hand appeared, flicked on the light. Tavia squinted, opening fire. The bullets tore through the door and an anguished scream told her she'd hurt one of them. She surged to her feet. There hadn't sounded like more than three people…

Part of her wanted to stay where she was, let the scumbag run or come try his luck.

Most of her, though, was willing to take a calculated risk. If he got away… he could come back. Better to spare herself some concern and sleeplessness. She had enough of the latter right now; she didn't need more.

She came through the door to find him standing against the wall, as she'd done, hoping for a moment's blindness in which to attack.

It almost worked, and Tavia found herself locked in a struggle with the turian. They both had a grip on her liberated rifle and gave ground, this way and that as they each struggled to wrench her weapon free of the other's hands.

Tavia bit her lip sharply, the pain vanishing immediately in the surge of adrenaline powering her fight. She sucked on her tongue, then spat the bloody mess into the turian's face.

"Ugh!" He cringed as she expected a dextro would when hit in the face by levo spit rich with the tang of coppery blood. It was less the presence of spit and blood on his face that made him jerk back, and more the fact that turians had keen noses and human blood smelled loud under the best circumstances. It was a trick in perception; one of the first things ICT taught their soldiers how to take a turian apart. Other species came later, but it always started with turians and this was a favorite stopgap kind of trick.

Blood to the face, even if it wasn't enough to trigger an allergic reaction, was usually enough to cause an involuntary flinch.

Tavia let go of the weapon, a risky move she knew, but she had no chance if it remained a contest of strength and diversions were never meant to buy lots of time. She grabbed a mandible with one hand and the back of his head crest with the other and with a sharp jerk twisted it. The torque was all wrong for a killing neck snap, but was _just_ right…

The turian screamed, then fell bonelessly to the floor. Panting, Tavia took the weapon from his lifeless talons before frisking him, removing everything that might be useful to her and ignoring his whimpering panic as he realized exactly what she'd done to him.

She _tried_ to ignore his pathetic panic, but failed. Instead of dealing with it, she peeled off a sock and forced it into his mouth to shut him up. It would have been kinder to kill him, but she wanted a live body because she had questions. She knew enough not to try to extract answers herself but she suspected that someone would, sooner or later, appreciate her forethought.

Cripple her ass. She spat blood again, this time on the floor, looked around for her C-Sec watchdog.

The human lay dead by the doorway, blood spattered all over the door. Didn't even have her pistol out. Tavia bit her lip, looking at the crime scene. She needed to find Vakarian. And Anderson. Preferably Anderson. She needed to secure herself until backup arrived.

"Anderson," she declared when he finally answered her call.

"Shepard? It's late…" the captain slurred groggily.

"Tell me about it. Find Vakarian. I just have a troupe of well-armed mercs break into my place," she declared calmly. "Knock loud and ID yourselves when you get here. I'm armed and nervous." She severed the call, knowing Anderson would respond faster if he couldn't get immediate answers.

She pushed the door almost shut, then took up a seated position in a corner, her weapon balanced on her knees just as they were taught during marksmanship training. She liked the seated position relative to the others: kneeling was hard on her knee, belly-down was good for sniping but not much else. She could wait like this forever if she needed to.

So she waited, forcing her mind to grow calm and her body to follow her mind's example.

Garrus: Underestimations

Garrus arrived at Shepard's apartment first, found the door nudged as close to being closed as possible; at one point it had been forced, so it hung awkwardly. The blood of the C-Sec officer crumpled before it spattered everywhere. "Shepard?" he called loudly. "Shepard, it's Vakarian." He felt sick. This place was supposed to be _secure_! If he couldn't leave her here, where _could_ he leave her?

This attack… it was—might be—something useful…

"Open the door nice and slow," Shepard directed, sounding almost bored.

He took a deep breath, cuing his eyepiece. He could see her body heat signature, seated far back and presumably near a wall. He didn't doubt that if her assailant had been armed, she was too by this point. She wouldn't have called Anderson—who had passed on the message—if she hadn't contained the situation.

The fact that she was an N7, special forces, unconventional warfare, crystallized for him. She was not someone to be trifled with, not to be underestimated. Anderson was aging but still formidable. Shepard was still in her prime, if a little slowed up and with an obvious weak spot.

He'd have to do a little more research into these N7s to avoid the mistake of underestimating what they could do.

He pushed the door open, found the room a mess and a turian whose head moved violently as he tried to spit out whatever she'd crammed into his mouth to keep him quiet. There were bullet holes in the wall, the feet of another assailant in the doorway leading to Shepard's bedroom, and Shepard herself, sitting in the corner, her rifle propped on her knees.

"Why I am I being shot at on the Citadel, of all places?" Shepard asked darkly, the weapon clicking as she engaged the safety before using the wall to get to her feet.

Garrus watched the process, saw the weakness of the one knee. He glanced at the bodies again, imprinting in his mind that Shepard was in the peculiar position of being too easy to over- _and_ under-estimate. "How many?"

"Three. Last one's in there," she motioned to her bedroom, letting the rifle hang easy in its sling.

Garrus stepped over the downed turian, noting absently that she hadn't restrained the man in any way he could see. Sure enough, stepping over the one dead merc, he found another one with a spongy mass for a face. Despite being appalling that she should be attacked in this way with this sort of force on the Citadel, it made his stomach jump. This wasn't a random action. This was a planned hit—short notice, perhaps, but planned. Someone needed her _silenced_ … and there was only one reason why.

He'd gone to the mat with the Council. She'd come up in conversation. There were always people around the Council, security clearance-bearing people… but clearly Saren's people, too. Or maybe watchers elsewhere who knew and relayed to someone that she'd come out of her psychosis.

"Because I've made someone _very_ nervous. Nervous enough to be indiscreet," Garrus answered, his mind trying to race and slow itself down at the same time.

"The hell you say! _Indiscreet_? Someone sent trained mercenaries after me. On the _Citadel_. I'm in C-Sec protective frakkin' custody. Someone thinks he's damned untouchable to be pulling this shit," she snarled, eyes flashing.

For a moment Garrus saw, not the security contractor, but a glimmer of the soldier she'd once been—she was angry, not afraid. It left a favorable impression, and was quite reassuring.

She limped over to the downed turian. "I left this one alive so you could ask him your questions."

"I'll bet he was hired through intermediaries," Garrus rumbled. Still, he might know something that could lead somewhere…

"I don't give a damn if he was hired through intermediaries. He's all yours," Shepard bristled. "Merry flippin' Christmas."

Garrus wanted to chuckle, vaguely aware that 'Christmas' was analogous to one of several turian gift-exchanging holidays. It was clear, to him at least, that Shepard was seriously considering using her own connections to find out who the hell _did_ hire this group and why. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to let her do it. Of course, this attack changed everything. It meant he needed to keep her close.

He couldn't say it was a prospect he relished. "I think your stay just lengthened, Shepard."

"The hell you say." Her tone screamed 'no kidding, genius,' as she accepted the necessity with a soldier's pragmatism. Then, suddenly and vehemently, she shouted, "Dammit!" She cast around the room as if looking for something to throw. In absence of anything to hand, she ran a hand through her hair, fisting it in the fluffy blonde locks.

"What?" he demanded, startled by the sudden vehemence.

"This means I've gotta send my cats to the damn pet Hilton," she huffed, letting go of her hair to wave as if to say this was of no consequence to him, merely an inconvenience for her.

"Shepard!" The voice at the door was Anderson's.

"All clear! Come ahead!" Shepard called sourly. "My cats _hate_ the Hilton…" she groused to herself as if Anderson's arrival hadn't interrupted her train of thought. "They're gonna crap in the corners for a week when I get back…"

Anderson entered, looking pasty. "Glad to see you haven't gotten soft," he said fervently, once he'd taken account of the corpses he could see and that Shepard did not seem injured beyond the norm.

"My knee slows me down," Shepard responded darkly. "It doesn't make me unable to function."

Anderson bit his lip as though to still a retort, satisfying himself with an irritable snort. If she could growl and complain she was fine, apparently.

Garrus began to suspect that although the two humans were friends after a fashion there had been some argument about her injury and possibly her ejection from the Alliance. He was not interested in their drama, and Shepard's grousing seemed to be a kind of coping method. She certainly seemed more irritated by the attack than distressed by it. He couldn't tell if it was just a front or not.

It was best though, he decided. He had trouble with weeping and hysterics. Anger was easier to handle.

"Get up," Garrus growled to the one living mercenary.

"He _can't_." Shepard answered with a touch of professional pride. "I severed his spinal cord at the neck. ICT still teaches us to do that." She shot Anderson a wicked look.

Ouch.

"What do you want, a medal? I always said you were one of the best," Anderson responded dryly.

"I'm not in it for the medals, thanks. A beer might be nice, though," she retorted just as dryly.

"Noted."

For a moment, the friction vanished and Garrus had a look at what they must have been like before Akuze.

Unfortunately, that wasn't interesting just now. Neck snaps were good, because sometimes 'dead' wasn't how you wanted someone; it was good that she'd thought that way.

Shepard crouched, grabbed the turian by his head crest and cranked his neck to look at her. "Who's the cripple _now_ , asshole?"

A wry smile played across Garrus' mouth as he regarded Shepard and the turian merc. Some of his sourness had vanished in lieu of approval at her apparent restraint in _not_ killing her assailant. Spirits knew she'd handled the others pretty thoroughly.

It seemed hilarious, all of a sudden, to think that one slowed-down unarmed woman, even one of ICT's N7s, had chewed through three well-armed mercenaries with several advantages to their credit and spit them right back out. "N7, huh? I'm impressed," he admitted.

Shepard straightened up, surprised by the admission. "Thanks," she said self-consciously.

"The hell's going on here, Vakarian?" Anderson asked.

Shepard didn't let Garrus answer the question. "You're a Spectre. Can you get me clearance to carry a gun? I don't want a repeat of this," she growled, indicating the room with a finger.

"I'll see what I can do." It was best not to be committal, but if anyone _should_ be carrying a gun—who wasn't already licensed to do so—it was probably her. With her armed, he wouldn't need to worry so much about her getting wasted while he wasn't looking. He couldn't very well do his job _and_ babysit.

There it was, the first creep of paranoia. Was that a hallmark of Spectre-hood, the constant sense of not being able to trust _anyone?_ That was definitely _not_ something he'd been warned about…

And she had a point: someone had attacked her in the middle of the night cycle, on the Citadel, on the _Presidium_ , in C-Sec's own facility for 'guests.' It boggled his mind to think how obviously armored mercenaries had gotten here without anyone apparently noticing.

"Vakarian."

He turned to find Shepard frowning at him, her expression calm but something in her eyes blazing. The fire behind them almost made the grey sparkle. "I wasn't really asking."

He found himself smiling hesitantly at this unexpected show of defiance. He could read between the lines—anyone could—that if he didn't get her authorization, she was going to arm and entrench herself without it, hwoever she had to do it.

To be honest, and he did not mean it as a slight against C-Sec, just as a statement of fact, he _would_ feel better if she was armed. She'd evidenced she could take care of herself if need be; the calm, level-headed presentation she made now told him she wouldn't have twitchy trigger fingers… her display in her office excepted.

"I… will make that happen."

"Thank you." The courtesy surprised him, but maybe it shouldn't have. It had been some time since he'd last spoken to Rational Shepard. And he'd been poking her for reactions at the time…

She'd taken on a new dimension suddenly, and he wasn't sure what to think about it. "Let's get C-Sec down here and find somewhere else for you to be."

"Let me change my clothes." With that, she disappeared into the bedroom, presumably to the bathroom. When she reappeared, she had her duffel bag packed, dressed in her red Bulldog Security polo shirt, with a liberated pistol stuffed into the back of her dark trousers, anchored in place by her belt. "You can keep the rifle," she said, holding it out.

Garrus took it, looking at the bodies and the incapacitated turian, who seemed to have slipped into numb shock. "Did he really call you a cripple?" he asked, absently checking that the rifle's block was out and its chamber empty.

As he could have predicted, the weapon was perfectly safe for transport. She'd probably left the block on her bedside table.

"Yep. Someone didn't do his homework." Shepard put on the pair of dark glasses in her free hand and Garrus suspected it was to hide her relief that someone _hadn't_ done his homework.

Or, occurred to him suddenly, that it wasn't lack of homework. It was having _done_ homework at all. The research itself set up a would-be attacker for failure—or, at least, a harder time than expected.

Everyone, himself included, seemed to think that her knee was a major issue. It was the first concern anyone had, the first weakness anyone noticed. It was, after all, one of the reasons cited for her being bounced from the Alliance, after all. The officials had made a mountain out of a molehill, with the end result that Shepard was constantly being underestimated. When she said the injury was no longer more than an inconvenience she was telling the truth, not trying to cover up for a true weakness.

He frowned at her thoughtfully, beginning to reevaluate his opinion of her. He liked feisty Soldier Shepard much better than Security Firm Boss Shepard. The former made more noise and fuss… but he also felt confident that the former was the more up-front of the two.

After all, Security Firm Shepard had to deal with clients. Soldier Shepard didn't.

Tavia: New Plans

Tavia spent the rest of the night at C-Sec headquarters, though she didn't sleep in spite of the cot brought for her. This was more by choice than out of necessity. It had been a long time since someone had tried to kill her. In this case she'd done as much as she could, but the root of the problem remained.

Vakarian's second order of business—the first being to get the turian mercenary medical attention so he'd be in a fit condition to answer questions later—was to get her the appropriate license for unrestricted carry. The pistol she'd claimed from one of her assailants and worn all the way to C-Sec was considered 'evidence,' which meant provision of a more standardized firearm fell to C-Sec.

She imagined that, broadly speaking, C-Sec wasn't happy acquiescing to so many 'polite requests' from a Spectre. Fortunately, it seemed the local level wasn't so touchy. Possible embarrassment over Shepard having been attacked at all stopped any real objections to her 'borrowing' a weapon. And a holster for it.

The weight of the weapon made her feel much less like a target. She'd had to fish out her jacket—the one she wore when she needed to make a more businesslike impression than a polo shirt and slacks made—from her duffel bag in order to conceal the weapon properly. It showed a little as an odd hitch in the material near the small of her back, but unless someone was really looking it was unlikely they would notice the distortion.

First thing in the morning—Earth time—she placed a call to Jenga, informing her second-in-command that she'd been in an accident and that she'd be a few days longer than expected. How few was 'a few?' She had no idea, and while it bothered her, she didn't let on. Tavia did not mention mercenaries, bullets, or anything that might distract Jenga from ensuring normal operations. Jenga would, Tavia smiled, have wanted to deploy one or two of Bulldog Security's personnel to back her up. Just in case.

Tavia didn't want the shadowy mastermind behind the assassination attempt to know she was rattled. Having backup arrive to gargoyle at anyone who got near her would convey the impression of being rattled. Also, it would annoy her to feel babysat by her own people.

The next call went to the so-called 'pet Hilton.' Her cats hated being sent to the pet resort, but she couldn't expect Sherry to care for them over an undefined span of time. The pet resort would be more than happy to take her money and her cats.

Ace and Ante would punish her for the disruption later, but as far as owning pets and not being sure when she could get back to them, she felt damned if she did and damned if she didn't. She could always win her way back into their good graces with warmed-up shrimp or other delicacies to the felines' tastes.

The next call was to Sherry asking her to take them to the pet resort. Moving Ace and Ante was not difficult: one only had to bait their carrycases with shrimp-flavored puffed-rice snacks. Tavia herself couldn't abide the novelty item (originally a gift), but the cats loved it (having decided that an open bag was a despised bag, and was therefore free game).

The next call was to Russ, her… significant other. She didn't want to call him her boyfriend yet because of the connotations of the word. Sweetheart sounded too junior high. Beau might work, she mused.

She didn't tell him _anything_ about accidents, mercenaries, or bullets, either. It was nice to hear his cheerful voice, exchange a few pleasantries. It was nice to be asked when she was coming back. It was good to be _missed_ and know she could count on seeing someone glad to have her back when she eventually came home.

That was the thing about being an N7: the number of people who missed you while you were on assignment or on tour was low. The job tended to be more than most relationships could handle, due to the danger and the separation… mostly the separation.

Tavia got off the line and counted on her fingers. Work. Pet resort. Best friend. Significant other—beau. Yes, beau would work. Who was she forgetting to call? She frowned, then dialed Jenga again.

"Jenga, me again. Can you get me through to the team on Eden Prime?" she asked.

" _Feeling a bit paranoid?_ "Jenga chided.

"You know me. Cluck-cluck."

Jenga laughed, then put her on hold.

A moment later, a new voice came into the line. " _Boss? What's up?_ "

"Greg." Tavia recognized his voice right off. He had a distinctive drawl that he assured her was 'pure Texas.'

She had her doubts about that, but she kept them to herself.

Greg suffered from an excess of personality, but was popular with female clients due to his earnest good manners and charisma. In this case, he was there because of an unfinished degree in archaeology—specifically study of the Protheans.

She'd never asked why he changed his mind after his first summer-long expedition. Maybe there wasn't enough run and gun, the kind of archaeology popular in the vids.

"How are things?" she asked, frowning out the window of the little cubical in which she sat.

" _Not too bad. Place is crawling with investigators. Did you hear? Some turian got capped._ "

"I'm aware."

" _Of course you are,_ " Greg sighed. His tone suggested Tavia _never_ let anything or anyone surprise her and he didn't know why he kept trying to do so.

Tavia chuckled. "Have you heard anything odd from the investigators?"

" _Nothing really odd. Except that the place was crawling with geth and these weird burned out body things._ "

"What? Burned out bodies…?" Tavia frowned. This _was_ new. She would expect bodies, but 'weird burned out' struck her as odd and ominous.

Greg, pleased to know something she didn't, immediately began to feed her information. There were these corpses, blackened ruins but full of tech. It seemed that they might have been colonists; it was definitely the work of the geth. No one was sure what to think about the giant spires that seemed to be responsible for the metamorphosis. Those were locked down tight.

"Mysterious tech, huh?" Tavia mused, her eyes half closing. "Greg, I want you to put your team on alert. Be extra vigilant. I've got that feeling."

Greg's nod was almost audible over the line. " _We'll be careful, boss. Anything in particular you want us looking out for?_ "

"No, nothing in particular. I'll check in if anything changes." She cut the connection, leaning on her elbows as she thought.


	5. Chapter 5

Garrus: Spook Hat, Cop Hat

Garrus glanced through the cubical window at Shepard's back. She'd been on the comm lines for what seemed like forever. He suspected it was mostly business: she'd been here longer than he had originally anticipated keeping her and it looked like she was going to be around even longer.

Or maybe time was dragging as it was prone to doing when a situation was all 'hurry up and wait.' He couldn't question Shepard's catch of the day. Weapons and the crime scene were all being picked over in minute detail by C-Sec. One of their number was dead; they would do their damnedest to find out who was responsible and move up the chain of responsibility until they found the man with the money.

As far as his investigation went though, he was on the defensive and he didn't like it. It was as if he could do nothing whatever until Saren made his move, always from the shadows, always from behind some shroud of invisibility. He needed a way to get ahead, needed to derail the plan somehow…

He glanced back at Shepard, just severing a call. She had certainly made herself hard to kill. Surely there was a connection here—he brought her up in conversation to the Council and then less than twelve hours later, less than _eight_ hours later, someone tried to kill her. Or maybe it was longer, someone knew she'd come out of a condition in which she couldn't help anyone. That would allow more planning time for the hit.

Why? Was it just operational prudence? Was there something in the beacon's garbled mess that Saren wanted kept quiet? He couldn't bring himself to consider the possibility that the two events were unconnected.

If someone wanted Shepard dead because of her work, then they would have done it somewhere less high profile. An attack like this? It was high profile out of necessity. Someone needed something done _fast_.

Saren and the geth. Saren and the beacon. Shepard and the beacon. Shepard and Saren. He took a deep breath, knocked on the window and waited for her to acknowledge him. He didn't want to just walk in, in case she was twitchy as well as armed.

"How's it going?" Shepard asked, slouching in her seat as she regarded him.

"Sit and wait," Garrus shrugged as Shepard gave a soundless 'ah' of commiseration. "Does the name Saren Arterius mean anything to you?"

"No. Sounds turian."

"It is." Garrus frowned at Shepard.

"You think he's the source of this… ah… unpleasantness?" Shepard waved one of her many digits to indicate her situation.

"I think so."

"Why?"

"Gut instinct."

"Gut instinct's not admissible in court."

Garrus frowned at her and she frowned right back at him.

"How classified is this?" Shepard finally asked.

" _Very_."

"Mmm."

Which meant, and he knew it meant, she was not going to try to shake him down for information. He was glad, because information seemed to be a precious commodity.

"Where's Anderson?" Shepard asked to break the silence.

"I think he's chatting with your Alliance headquarters," Garrus answered.

"Why bother?" Shepard growled bitterly, running a hand through her hair before drumming her fingers nervously on the nearest surface.

"Because it's _procedural_." He hated the never-ending strings of procedures. They bogged things down, gave criminals opportunities to slither out of reach. Sometimes the book needed to be put aside so you could clock a guy with it…

…but he was a Spectre now. He _could_ do that. Except there wasn't much _point_ at this juncture, since his target was so damn shady.

"Not fond of procedure, huh?" Shepard asked.

"No."

She chuckled at that. "Can't say I blame you."

It was amazing how much having a gun improved her mood, Garrus realized. It had certainly taken an upswing since she'd been rearmed.

"Am I going to be locked down here from now on?"

This must be what she'd been leading up to. "Probably."

"Damn."

"I know it's not ideal," Garrus allowed.

Shepard frowned at him, as if trying to decide whether he was being patronizing or not. "What's your next step?"

Garrus smiled, though he wasn't sure she recognized the expression for what it was. "Trying to get in on the investigation?"

"I'm the one being shot at." She gestured as if to say that was all she needed to feel she ought to be included.

That was true.

"I'm waiting for a few leads to pan out," he answered evasively. He didn't like the way she was slipping into that calm, diplomatic tone.

"Right." She sighed and shook her head.

"What's that for?" he demanded. She reminded him a little too much of more senior officers back when he'd joined C-Sec, amused and a little impatient with the brash young officer serving in their district. She lacked the impatience, presenting a tolerant indulgence for youth and inexperience.

He wanted to grimace at this: one didn't get to be a Spectre without distinguishing himself first. And that took time.

For most people.

"I don't know what kind of cop you were, but I think you're new to this Spectre business and it's getting in your way. For instance," she held up a finger to forestall argument. "Have you checked for anything _odd_ happening between Eden Prime and now? Checked audio logs for mentions of geth or your suspect or both? Your lunatic had men already on the Citadel. Now, they might be here as a regular 'just in case' or… they might have an actual purpose. One that's now been disrupted."

Garrus looked away from her wondering what, exactly, her role in combat _was_. He thought he understood it, but he began to suspect he'd missed something. "Possibly."

"Do I have at least partial run of C-Sec?" she asked.

"The facility? Yes. Data? No," Garrus answered flatly. No, he was _not_ going to wrangle C-Sec clearances for a civilian to sift their data. No way.

"Good." She got up from her chair, stretching a little. Her back and shoulders popped. Turian spinal columns did too, from time to time, but since they weren't as flexible as a human's or asari's backbone… it was always amazing what kind of display those two species managed.

"Wait a minute—"

"You're a spook, Vakarian. _No one_ trusts spooks. I'm just gonna put an ear to the ground. If I find something, I'll tell you. I want to go home. Soon." With that, she stepped out of the cubical, leaving him to his own devices.

 _You're new to this Spectre business and it's getting in your way._

He didn't want to consider whether there was any truth to that.

Tavia: In the Swing

Two hours later, Tavia entered Vakarian's office, buoyed up and intent.

"I was looking for you," he began.

"Quarian," she interrupted, "showed up at the Embassies looking for asylum. Said she had information linking Saren and the geth to trade in order for protection. The asshole ran her off."

Vakarian's jaw dropped.

"Here's something else. While I was chatting up the friend of this embassy guard dog, someone else pitched in that there was a report floating around about a shooting on the Presidium. No bodies reported, but a quarian was seen leaving the site. Quarians aren't popular, so no one cared to notice. She may still be running but if she was injured there may be some record of it somewhere." She didn't know if C-Sec could _find_ it, but she thought she could narrow down the places a quarian on the run could go for help if she knew what was available on the station.

"I'll check med clinic records, see if anyone's reported anything," Vakarian answered, immediately turned to the task. "And you just chatted these guys up?" he asked, pausing in his search. He glanced back, his beady blue eyes swept her up and down.

"Uh-huh." It wasn't hard. The story of the attack on her was common knowledge and a good topic for discussion since she obviously wasn't traumatized by the experience. N7s held a certain mystique for humans and she'd played on it several times, dropping hints, alluding to adventures, the sorts of things that caught and held the attention. The sorts of things that prompted people's tongues to loosen in an attempt to turn a story swap into a one-up competition.

Information was information; she didn't necessarily need to strip it from a secure database or damaged drive.

"Huh. Chloe… that is, Dr. Michel. Submitted a bit to us saying she'd treated a gunshot. Polonium rounds… that's why she said something…" Vakarian paused, giving the impression of looking off into space for a moment. "Huh. Ballistics said the guys who paid you a visit were using polonium."

Interesting, and it made her devoutly glad she'd avoided being shot. Polonium was a damage-over-time round. If the initial wound didn't kill, the lingering affects might. Now she wished she'd paid attention to what kind of block she'd taken out of the rifle when she unloaded it. And for a quarian… "Nasty," Tavia shook her head, leaning over Vakarian shoulder to look at the display. "Gang affiliations?

"Not hardly. Private contractor."

"Who? They might be my competition; we have to take professional competition into account." She didn't think it likely. Security firms, even the shady ones, tended not to try settling business differences with this kind of brute force. And they definitely didn't do a thing like that in a place like this. It was bad for the reputation and even a shady company had to maintain _some_ kind of repute… or evidence of general common sense.

Vakarian didn't say anything for a moment. "Arc Security. Terminus based, probably."

"I don't know them right off. I'll call Jenga at first opportunity, ask her to look into them." That, at least, was something she could do, as opposed to twiddling her thumbs.

"This report doesn't say who the victim was," Vakarian continued, though he nodded to indicate he'd heard her offer. "I think we need to pay the good doctor a visit."

"We?" Tavia asked, surprised. She fully expected to be told to stay put, call her contact, and be a good girl.

Vakarian paused for a moment, almost shiftily. "Let's just say I'd rather know _exactly_ where you are just now. Let's get you a vest and we'll go. I already know you can shoot back if something bad happens."

Tavia didn't argue, merely grabbed her jacket and slid it on. "You know this doctor?" It was good to have the promise of doing something constructive, even if she entertained concerns about physical demands taking an upswing and requiring something she couldn't handle.

She mothballed the concern. That had to be partially born of tiredness—a tiredness rapidly evaporating—and of too many other people's fussing.

"I do. She runs a little clinic down in the Wards. She's good people," Vakarian answered, taking off with a leggy stride which Tavia found difficult to match. She said nothing, however, merely worked as hard as she could to keep up.

Tavia: Check Up

"Ralph, Shepard." Tavia declared, once she had an uplink.

" _Oh, hey boss. How's the Citadel?_ " Ralph asked brightly.

"Nice enough. I need you to do a little on the spot research for me."

" _Okay. What do you need?_ "

"Arc Security. That's A-R-C Security," Tavia declared slowly. "Do we have anything?" Tech was Tavia's specialty, and Bulldog Security made very effective use of whatever tech she thought she could implement. That wasn't to say removing said tech would cripple her operation, the tech simply made things safer for her field personnel.

" _Okay… gimme a minute…_ "Ralph worked in silence for a time, leaving Tavia and Vakarian to wait, trying not to look at one another or give the impressions of impatience. " _Got it. Arc Security—ArcSec. Shady bunch, operate out of the Terminus. They're not really competition for us—just paid thugs. Kicked-in doors and busted-up knees, that sort of thing. They end up in trouble with the law as often as not. We've had them shooting at our guys before, that's why they're in your database._ "

Of course it was. "Any contact information?" It was worth a shot.

" _It's not like hiring us, boss._ " She could almost hear Ralph's curiosity, but he contained it admirably. " _If what I've got is correct—and this is outside your data pool—they're big into the hit hard hit first school of thought. They don't usually need second tries. If they do… then things get ugly. They take it personally._ "

Damn. "Okay. Thanks, Ralph."

" _See you, boss._ " This time, though, Ralph did not quite succeed in keeping the worry out of his voice. But, again, to his credit, he didn't ask her for information she had not volunteered.

"ArcSec are Terminus thugs, get nasty if they have to make a second try," Tavia declared blandly to Vakarian, who'd observed the entirety of the call even if he couldn't hear both sides. "I don't have contact information, but I suspect that it won't be necessary if we wait long enough."

"Or unless interrogation gets to that turian you, ah, incapacitated," Vakarian answered delicately.

"Ruined?" Tavia supplied, unrepentantly. If it came down to a choice between him or her, she'd gladly take the same course of action again.

"I'll let C-Sec know they've got scum crawling around. Maybe they'll be able to stop any… nastiness." Vakarian did not sound wholly convinced.

It didn't hurt to try. Unfortunately, police work usually involved cleanup, not prevention. His face said he knew this, and of course he should: he used to be C-Sec, after all. "Let's get me geared and go. If I were these thugs and found out where the quarian went, I'd be paying Dr. Michel a visit."

Vakarian nodded, and Tavia suspected he'd arrived at the same conclusion as early or earlier than she had. He seemed to have put his cop hat back on and stopped worrying about being a Spectre, which was good.

She just hoped it would last.

Garrus: Tagalong

Garrus felt oddly at peace with his decision to let Shepard 'tag along'—though anyone looking at her would never use that phrase. She followed along at his shoulder, every inch the competent, confident security expert. She looked it too, her blast vest mostly covered by her business jacket, pistol in a much despised shoulder rig. She'd complained, initially, that women _weren't_ designed to wear shoulder rigs—to quote her 'your rack gets in the way'—but that was all she said about it.

He couldn't help but agree with her, and wondered why asari, quarian and human females were so poorly designed in that respect, compared to the svelte, lean lines of his own people's women. A female turian had _no_ trouble with a shoulder rig. None.

Of course, all of the rest were mammals, so maybe _that_ had something to do with it.

Dr. Michel's clinic was in the Wards nearest the Presidium, right past the market district—and Morlan's Famous Shop. About to be famous for its junk mail, at least.

Garrus paused at the door, cuing his eyepiece.

Shepard watched, waiting silently without questioning him. Her hand slipped under her jacket, but she didn't free the weapon. She simply waited.

There were too many bodies in that clinic, and what looked like a struggle going on between two of them. His stomach turned cold, but he forced the fear and speculation down. "Looks like we've got four… with the fifth possibly being the doctor. Two on the left, two on the right with the doctor, one by the door.

Shepard cursed softly, then freed her pistol and gave it the habitual check of someone who worked with firearms. "I can take the one with the doctor."

"…you want me to trust your aim? Just like that?" he frowned.

"You've seen me shoot," Shepard answered. "You apparently know the layout of the clinic; I'd have to spend more time looking around. We need to act fast." Her tone implied that fast acting was not the same as on-the-fly action… but he agreed with her.

"Okay. Take the shot if you can get it. Make the doctor your priority." He reached for the console to palm the door open, then tagged it.

Shepard darted past him and he fell in hurriedly behind her.

He heard Dr. Michel's muffled attempts to cry out, the soft snarls for her to shut up.

Headshot: the thug at the foot hit the ground.

A sharp whistle from Shepard drew attention to her before her pistol barked twice, double tap to the chest followed by an unmuffled scream from the doctor and Shepard's bark of 'get down!'

Garrus didn't look, merely let the sounds tell him what was going on.

They should have locked the door, even if that would have attracted some attention. It would have stopped accidental witnesses or, in this case, slowed armed incursion.

Headshot—they were down to three.

He saw, out of the corner of his eye, Shepard vault the low wall that separated the waiting room from the examination portion of the clinic before his attention swung to the left. There were two thugs by a console and nowhere else.

Headshot. One left.

Shepard's pistol barked again, a double tap that left her target screaming and mewling in pain. He doubted this survivor was the result of poor marksmanship.

"You clear?" Shepard demanded from invisibility.

"Clear," Garrus responded.

Shepard pulled herself to her feet, hurried despite her limp over to the wounded mercenary, and divested him of his weapons with practiced ease before forcing him to roll onto his stomach. "Cuffs?"

"No." And didn't he regret it now?

Shepard grunted, undid her belt, pulled it off, and tied it snugly above the human's elbows, restraining his arms behind him, reducing the amount of leverage he could exert to free himself. Not that he would want to do anything but capitulate, Garrus thought, when he was bleeding like that.

Gutshots were ugly, and that was exactly what Shepard had employed. "Get me something to shut him up," she barked, not to him, but to Dr. Michel.

The woman was pale with fright, but she moved at Shepard's command, fumbling numbly for a pad of medical gauze.

Garrus suspected the doctor wanted to patch up the wound, but she was not given the option. Shepard grabbed the gauze and deftly stuffed it into the merc's mouth without letting him bite and with a callous ease that did credit to her training.

Pitying the scum could come back to bite a person. Garrus approved.

With the injured man restrained and muffled, Shepard straightened up, frowning at him.

Tavia: The Clinic

Before everything else, Tavia had to admit that Garrus Vakarian was a spectacular shot. Three headshots in quick succession. Well, either he was that good or his visor was something else. Or both, maybe.

"Dr. Michel, are you hurt?" Vakarian asked, his voice much kinder than Tavia had heard it thus far. The gentleness surprised her, made her wonder what kind of cop he _had_ been, since he seemed to know how to settle a witness.

The doctor, shaky, sweaty, and pale, nodded hurriedly, still looking at the downed mercenary, chewing her lip. Tavia repressed her inclination to tell the woman not to worry about the scumbag. He wasn't going anywhere on his own.

Instead, she released the ammunition block and cleared the liberated pistol's chamber. Sure enough, polonium rounds. "You know, I'm thinking C-Sec may need to clean house," she declared, studying the block with the thin safety coating on the portions not yet shaved down to produce slugs.

Vakarian sighed, but didn't respond. It clearly pained him to think that there were moles and the like within his former agency of employ.

"No, no, I'm fine," Dr. Michel finally managed, "just a little… ruffled." She shifted uncomfortably, brushing her arms as if to remove an uncomfortable situation. Uncomfortable, Tavia thought grimly as Dr. Michel discreetly rubbed her chest beneath her breasts, still trying to remove the feel of a restraining arm.

She glowered at the downed merc, wondering what kind of 'tough stuff' ArcSec employed. Bullies or true believers? She suspected the former, if they let a second try on someone get personal. If she was correct, he'd cave under enough pressure. The question was whether he knew anything worth spilling.

"Doctor, I know those men threatened you," Vakarian took her gently by the arm, led her over to one of the examination tables and patted it for her to sit down.

She obeyed wordlessly, her eyes still showing too much white for Tavia's liking.

Tavia dragged the merc to a sitting position, crouching perpendicular to him so she could see his hands and his face. "We're going to have a short chat," she declared softly. "You've been gut shot." It was true, but not as true as she intended him to believe. People in pain were often susceptible to the power of suggestion, particularly if they were afraid of more than just the pain. "And that is an _ugly_ way to go, as you've probably guessed. You nod yes or shake your head no. Cooperate and there's medigel and medical attention right here in this room. I'm not a cop: jerk me around and I _will_ watch you bleed out. Do you understand?"

He nodded, pale and sweating. Clearly he knew crap about gut shots versus the slightly-higher injury he actually had. Forcing him to sit up required muscle strength which aggravated the wound.

Huh. It might even be his first time _being_ shot. He did look a bit on the young side.

"Good start. Now, you and your team: you had two targets. A quarian and a human. Yes?"

He nodded again.

"Shepard, he'll tell you whatever he thinks you want to know," Vakarian put in blandly.

"He's confirming what I already know," Tavia said flatly. "This isn't an interrogation." If it was, she thought, she wouldn't have left him gagged. "You call C-Sec?"

"They're already on their way," Vakarian responded as if this should have gone without saying.

Tavia continued her game of 'yes and no' until C-Sec arrived, aware that Vakarian was gently questioning Dr. Michel. Chloe, if she heard him correctly when he pressed her for an answer she didn't want to give.

That bespoke a degree of familiarity Tavia hadn't expected… and part of her was glad, when she watched Vakarian haul the merc to his feet once C-Sec arrived, that Vakarian had stayed with the doctor. He looked wishful, like he wanted to dismember the merc and beat him to death with his own severed limbs.

That would be something to see.

"What'd you get from the doctor?" Tavia asked as they stepped out of the clinic, into the hall.

"She treated a quarian for a shot to the arm—yes, polonium. Our favorite," Vakarian answered somberly as he watched Dr. Michel walked to a C-Sec vehicle. "She said the quarian was just a kid, had information about the geth she wanted to trade for a place to hide. Dr. Michel put her in contact with a thug named Fist."

"Never heard of him. What's he into?" Tavia asked, ignoring the fact that she didn't have any reason to know who Fist was before now.

"Vice, mostly. Runs a dingy little strip club in the wards. Popular because it's so close to the Academy. C-Sec leaves him alone because he's small time, less trouble than anyone who might replace him."

Vakarian sounded so irritated by this that Tavia frowned at him. "You don't like that arrangement?"

"I'd rather clean house until someone gets the memo: _zero tolerance_ ," Vakarian responded curtly, his plated expression contorting with what she thought was probably distaste.

Interesting… though not unexpected in a Spectre.

"Thing is, Fist's a popular name these days. There was a krogan bounty hunter that showed up earlier in the week. Fist tried to put him up on charges of making threats."

Tavia scoffed gently.

"I know. It's a krogan thing," Vakarian nodded.

Tavia scoffed again, indicating they were _not_ of the same opinion on the matter. "So a krogan, Fist, and…?"

"And the quarian was desperate enough to want to trade her information to the Shadow Broker," Vakarian continued, "so Dr. Michel put him in contact with Fist. Which is a problem."

"Why?" Tavia looked away from the flurry of C-Sec activity.

"Because Fist doesn't work for the Shadow Broker anymore. That's where the krogan comes in."

Tavia frowned at Vakarian.

"What?" he asked, blinking at her.

"How do you _know_ all this? I thought you'd been playing Spectre," she answered, genuinely surprised and impressed.

Vakarian puffed up, his mandibles fluttering slightly. Like an angry, wet bird, Tavia thought, trying not to smirk. "I _haven't_ been _playing_. But I _do_ have friends in C-Sec and they talk to me sometimes," he declared as if to someone slow to follow. "Point is, if Fist cut ties with the Shadow Broker he's got himself a new patron. Someone he thinks can protect him."

"And you're thinking… Saren?" Tavia asked. The logic followed, but Vakarian was decidedly one of those people who latched onto an idea and held onto it with the utmost tenacity. It was not a mark against him, but it was a trait that, if untempered, tended to get in the owner's way.

Garrus: Gameplan

"I'm thinking Saren," Garrus agreed.

"We should talk to this krogan, if you can find him," Shepard declared.

"No, we shouldn't," Garrus declared, shaking his head. "Waste of time. We should go see Fist." It was a lead, a real, solid lead that might trace back to a real, solid piece of evidence. He didn't doubt that Fist's testimony would count for little with the Council—being the scumbag he was—but evidence linking him to Saren… and this quarian.

What kind of data could be so dangerous?

No, they had to get to Fist before Fist could do anything to or about the quarian. They also needed the quarian. Neither might be convincing to the Council alone, but bricks of proof seemed to be available to stack up in order to form a wall.

Shepard cut into his eager planning in a flat but patient tone. "Unless this krogan _bounty hunter_ caps Fist before we get there. We lose Fist, we lose the quarian. We lose the quarian we lose your link to Saren. If we've got a rogue element running around we either need to contain it or keep it close to hand. And the last time I checked, making threats isn't grounds for incarceration. Evenif Saren has agents in C-Sec, which I think we agree he does, there's only so much they can do without arousing suspicion. Especially now that we have two, sorry, _three_ attacks by ArcSec within a relatively short time."

Garrus' mandibles fell slack at this unassailable assessment. They were all conclusions he could have come to himself which made it irritating. More irritating was the fact that he'd let himself bypass them in his eagerness to get to the bottom of this matter and get it mopped up.

It brought to mind one of his father's favorite admonishments: _you can_ think _just fine, but you let your emotions trip you up. It's going to bite you in the ass, one of these days._

Garrus sighed, mandibles fluttering. "Last I heard, the krogan was still at the Academy. He might still be there." A krogan? As if they needed an unstable element like _that_ running around…

…which was what she'd said…

…dammit.

"If he is, we'll talk to him. If he's not, we'll hustle and pay Fist a visit," Shepard promised.

Garrus frowned at her back as she headed for the nearest groundcar. Since when had this become _her_ investigation? And since when had he _let_ it? He wasn't a rookie. Not a rookie officer of the law, anyway…

The problem was, he admitted to himself, she had a way of consolidating and parsing out data into salient packets. It gave her good footing to control the flow of things.

"What did you _do_ , exactly, in the Alliance military?" Garrus finally asked, throwing himself into the groundcar.

"I was an engineer," Shepard answered simply. There was nothing repressive in her tone, no hint that the subject was _closed_. She pointed it out as though indicating the artificial sky was blue.

Garrus frowned as the engine started. Engineer? "Like… building bridges?" he couldn't help the question, and found that it sounded even more stupid out loud than in his head.

"No, not that kind of engineer," Shepard chuckled, neither insulted nor pitying him for ignorance. "Combat engineer. Tech and information. My job was to control the battlefield and coordinate the men on it."

That explained a lot.

"You think I'm stealing your investigation?" she asked blandly. Her tone suggested she knew the answer already, but didn't agree with the assessment.

"Definitely."

She chuckled again. "Don't. It's habit with me: you're the lead hat. You point out the direction, I get you there." Her tone implied he could deal with it or leave her somewhere that she could get into trouble _without_ his watchful gaze to mitigate it.

His choice.

Garrus pondered this, found that, as he reviewed their association and her incorporation into the investigation, that she was giving a fair assessment. Huh. He glanced sidelong at her as she toyed with her omnitool, her brows contracted into a frown of concentration.


	6. Chapter 6

Tavia: Krogan

"What's his name, do you know?" Tavia asked as she leaned against the nearest wall, watching the big krogan leer and posture for the C-Sec operatives. He was a massive creature—though, she corrected herself, most krogan _were_ large by human standards. He also stood out in a crowd, having a bright red head plate and matching armor.

She was reminded of certain predators that advertised the fact that anything with sense should _stay away_ or risk being maimed, eaten, or both _._

"Wrex," Vakarian answered. His expression, as well as she could judge, was closed off, dislike of going to the krogan for help plain.

Stubborn turians. She wasn't going to try chipping away at a centuries-old grudge, but it did strike her as funny that the turians climbed onto the galactic stage only to join an intergalactic fight. Then humans jumped onto the galactic stage and also ended up fighting an established species.

Irony. The galaxy was a truly ironic place, and time had borne her out in this observation.

Tavia shifted restlessly. The need for sleep could be pushed aside, but her knee was beginning to hurt. She'd been on it too long, exposed it to too much activity—much more than she was used to. Now, the joint pulsed with dull pain that threatened to expand if she didn't do something productive about it. It made her feel frail and irritable. She hadn't noticed the pain until she'd climbed out of the groundcar.

"…maybe you should talk to him," Vakarian suggested cagily. "Work those people skills."

Tavia suspected he simply didn't want to sound reliant on her or admit to a shortfall in his abilities. Turians and krogan however, did not communicate well due to some rather nasty history. It wasn't a weakness, she thought, to admit to a lapse in ability or confidence in that ability. Weakness was letting pride compromise an objective.

Or maybe he had history with this particular krogan, who would hold it against him and turn what was an operation into a footrace. They didn't need that, either.

"Alright. I'll see what I can do." She limped forward, trying and failing to hide the impediment, though she succeeded in keeping the discomfort off her face. By this point she wanted her cane; she pushed that thought aside, too.

"Out of my way, human," Wrex grunted, making to push past her.

"I'm in your way for a reason, krogan," Tavia retorted, scowling at him—more for effect than out of rancor.

The krogan stopped, one corner of his mouth turning up in a lopsided expression that could have been a snarl or a leer. Tavia chose to interpret it as a leer. Krogan respected fearless opponents… as long as they were still at the talking phase.

"I'm Tavia Shepard, security consultant."

The krogan paused, seemed to run through his mental database of facts. "Hmph. I've heard of you," he grunted. "Your damn punks ruined one of my jobs."

"I'm sure as an independent contractor you can appreciate why that shouldn't be a problem for us, personally. My 'punks' had to go in for retraining. Do you know how big an inconvenience that was?" Tavia asked blandly. Truthfully, she had no idea who Wrex was or which job her security firm had interrupted. Krogan, being mercenaries, tended to run into any security firm often enough that it was no surprise when it happened.

The remark about retraining was for Wrex's benefit… she was sure the krogan was preening a little over it.

"I can imagine." Wrex stepped up to her, sticking his nose in her face. "What do you want, Shepard?"

"Get your _nose_ out of my _face_ ," Tavia said firmly, as if addressing one of her cats. She stared him down until he backed up marginally. He was still closer than she would have liked, but he had backed down, so she continued, "I'm assisting in an operation that might benefit from your assistance."

The krogan stepped back a reasonable distance this time, eyeing the way she favored one knee. "You mean you need a bullet magnet," Wrex grunted, the quality of his twisted expression changing.

Tavia forced herself not to seem rattled. Krogan could smell that kind of weakness or insecurity… and many would capitalize on it. "Don't be coy. You're here for Fist. My colleague needs a few words with him. You can partner into this operation and get to him expeditiously. I'm giving you that option."

"I like hearing my options," Wrex growled, but his mouth twisted back into a leer, "what's my other choice?"

"That same colleague says one word and you'll be detained here long enough for us to get to Fist and put him on the run. By the time you get un-detained, he'll be off the station and your manhunt falls behind another three weeks," Tavia responded blandly, expressing through posture and tone that it was ultimately all one to her.

"I'll warn you now Shepard," Wrex's red eyes darted around her face to see how she took the scrutiny and reacted to his next words. "I'm going to kill Fist."

"I don't care what you do to him as long as my colleague gets the answers he needs _first_ ," Tavia responded.

"Which one's—ugh. Gotta be the turian. They stink when they're antsy." Wrex snorted, then cracked his neck.

Tavia said nothing to this, though she thought it was the pot calling the kettle black. Krogan carried a dull odor with them on the best of days. It reminded her vaguely… of the zoo's pachyderm house. Yes. That was it.

The krogan considered her for a long moment, then shrugged. "Well, lead the way."

Garrus: Call the Play

Garrus had to admit he was impressed, watching Shepard's cool facedown with the pushy krogan. She never flinched, never glanced back for support, never wavered in the low tone she used. At this distance though, he realized she was beginning to favor that knee rather heavily. She hadn't complained, but it showed when she limped up with Wrex at her shoulder.

Would she even be any good for this operation? He had half a mind to find a way to tactfully take her off of it. However, she had a look on her face that would have stopped a truck, and certainly stopped his attempt to—

Well, that was a good way to put it, abrupt ending and all.

"This is Garrus Vakarian," Shepard declared briskly, "this investigation's lead hat. Vakarian, Urdnot Wrex, bounty hunter and temporary cohort. He'll hold off killing Fist if we get him to that… illustrious gentleman."

Wrex's expression lit up, his eyes narrowed, the line of his mouth almost curled back in on itself as he smiled.

"Something I need to know?" Shepard asked blandly.

"You look like another guy here," Wrex growled to Garrus, seeming to puff up a bit. "A real asshole."

Shepard's eyes jumped to him, but Garrus ignored her interest. This had to be more krogan posturing: he'd done it for the human, now it was the turian's turn. He wanted to roll his eyes, but didn't.

"So I've been told," Garrus rumbled. He wasn't sure if the krogan was guessing, or if he really did know Vakarian Sr. It didn't matter either way, Garrus supposed. He wasn't his father.

"I'd recommend taking a CRT car instead of the C-Sec vehicle," Shepard broke in pragmatically, "just in case Fist has eyes looking out for trouble."

"You don't _like_ trouble?" Wrex asked in the krogan approximation sweetness.

Shepard turned, her grey eyes suddenly framed by excessively arched eyebrows, "I like _successful operations_ more. Don't you?"

Wrex snorted a chuckle before continuing, "Last I heard, he hadn't shut down the club. Guess he figured C-Sec was tougher than they are." Wrex gave Garrus a nasty smile before continuing. "Or that they would be up to keeping trouble from paying a visit."

Garrus' mandibles contracted as he tried to ignore the krogan's goading. It shouldn't surprise him that, if he had friends in C-Sec, Saren would at least have informants. After all, a Spectre was in a position to drop hints in return for being kept apprised of happenings of interest. Something that might break a nasty case was sometimes considered beyond price.

It made Garrus' stomach clench, wondering if the Shadow Broker, too, had informers within C-Sec.

And then he promptly decided that C-Sec needed to clean house for a variety of reasons…

…before realizing fully that he was just as guilty as both of them when it came to having C-Sec seeded with helpful people. It was a sobering realization and gave him a creep of unease.

Shepard looked to Garrus, then shook her head. She didn't intervene or call him out of his thoughts, merely adjusted her blast vest.

"You're going in like _that_?" Wrex asked, snorting again, motioning to her with one stumpy finger. "Fist might not have the club closed, but his security is _tight_."

"We'll have some element of surprise," Shepard responded.

Garrus frowned at her, watching her shift from foot to foot. That damn knee. He immediately corrected himself: caution but not stupidity. The last guy who underestimated that knee was wishing she'd killed him. "You said you were long range when you were with the Alliance?" he asked, trying to sound thoughtful, but casual. Casually thoughtful.

"Yeah," Shepard responded, surprised.

"You're gimping kind of hard. I want you in the back," Garrus declared. "We'll get you something for range." There, that was good, politic… and if she was telling the truth about this being his op and that she was simply advancing stated goals… then she wouldn't complain.

"You don't think C-Sec will mind you raiding their closet every few hours?" Shepard asked, bland amusement coloring her tone, though her expression remained tense at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

"A Spectre can requisition a lot before people actually start to complain to him. _Especially_ if that Spectre got his start there. We need to hurry." He hated wasting time, but he could already hear Shepard arguing against going in half-cocked if it was suggested… though he doubted she'd have asked for a real rifle.

It surprised Garrus that Shepard did not protest not being on the frontline, either. Maybe she had a better idea of where she should be—as opposed to wanted to be—than he gave her credit for.

Then again, a refrain with her was 'the good of the operation.' Thinking back to her mission success ratings while still serving with the Alliance, the mindset made perfect sense.

She'd exhibited herself as frontline material, but clearly she knew her limits. That reassured him to no end. He wasn't sure he was done with whatever the beacon—it seemed ages ago since that happened—had left in her head.

He did intend, however, to keep her _away_ from Prothean tech in future. It might just end up scrambling her eggs beyond repair—to quote a friend in the vice division. And the cop in him simply didn't want to put her through that whole process again.

It did not take long to get her reequipped. Especially when all she wanted was a sniper rifle, a shield unit, and a visor. She spent the time in the CRT car synching her visor and omnitool, then checking the weapon. It was standard-issue for C-Sec, but not Elkoss Combine crap.

Thank goodness.

Her choice of weapon brought her up in his estimations, as did her careful handling of the weapon in close quarters. She'd opted to sit in back with Wrex, leaving him to squeeze in up front. That was probably prudent. "Vakarian. What's your radio channel?" Shepard asked.

He held out a hand, accepted her visor and synched their headsets before handing it back to her.

Shepard slipped the unit on, adjusted the fit with practiced ease, then settled back into the seat, regulating her breathing, visibly slipping into a sort of pre-combat calm that stilled all nerves. Despite her ease, he could see that the display was already feeding her information.

It was eerie to watch, as if she were asleep with her eyes open, so Garrus abandoned his observations via the rearview mirror.

What if they were too late and the quarian had already been killed? Or would she be taken alive, necessitating a true rescue, to find out exactly how much she knew? And how much time had they _wasted_? He huffed softly, bristling, trying to convince himself that, without Shepard's dubious help, his investigation would still be dragging along at a crawl.

Wrex snorted, then huffed.

Shepard ignored him.

Garrus closed his eyes.

Snort. Huff… and this _sound_ of slimy things moving around in unnatural ways in the krogan's sinus cavity.

"Stop screwing around, Wrex." Shepard's voice was bored, as if talking to some green recruit who had pre-mission jitters.

Wrex snorted again—this time it sounded like a laugh.

Garrus closed his eyes as he cracked a window; it was starting to smell like krogan in here…

He was infinitely glad when the CRT car stopped, letting them off at a corner just out of sight of Chora's Den.

Shepard heaved herself out of the groundcar, cracked her neck, and charged her weapon, checking it over once more with practiced hands.

"We need to do this fast," Garrus began. "If the quarian's not here—" And she probably wasn't…

"Wait, what quarian?" Wrex demanded, his whole face crumpling in suspicion as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"That's after your stint with us ends. Our quarian is not part of your job," Shepard responded before Garrus could say anything. "As Vakarian said: hit hard, hit fast."

Wrex gave a 'hmph' but asked no further questions. Garrus wondered how the krogan felt being excluded like that: the quarian _wasn't_ part of his job… but was that _curiosity_ scowling out of those rubbery flat features?

Shepard motioned both men close. "Wrex. You're in the front. Garrus, you're flanking. I'll find the high ground and watch our backs."

Exactly as he'd wanted it: Shepard in the back, where she wouldn't have to move fast or much.

"There's a stage for the dancers in the main room." Garrus declared. "It's good high ground."

"Lacks cover," Wrex grunted. "There's a warehouse or storage area behind the club but before you get to Fist's office. Put her in a corner up on the crates. It'll funnel any reinforcements right into her scope."

"I like that," Shepard nodded. "Puts me closer to you if anything goes really wrong."

Like, Garrus suspected, if Fist got past them and tried to make a run for it. Strangely, he didn't feel insulted by the suggestion that he _might_ let Fist give him the slip. It was just a fallback plan.

And even more strangely the krogan didn't seem to mind, either.

"How were you planning to clear the room of civilians?" Garrus asked.

"Easy. I'll let people know we've arrived. Nice and loud. It'll be fine."

The fact that Wrex started to grin made Garrus wonder about this krogan… and about the human managing him so neatly. He'd never seen—or heard of—such an amiable, obliging krogan in all his life.

One look from Wrex though, confirmed what Garrus suspected: _he_ would not find Wrex so obliging if _he_ was giving the orders.

It was less amiability and simply prudence and a desire for results.

Tavia: Make it Happen

Tavia walked into the club, heat signatures flaring in her eyepiece. "Ladies and gentlemen!" She spoke loudly, confidently, and aware that her voice would not carry far. "This club is now _closed_. Leave now."

She saw Vakarian wince, then jump as she unsheathed her pistol and discharged several rounds into the floor.

 _That_ got a reaction. No one ran to the back to get their stuff, no one wanted to stick around with bullets flying.

"I _like_ your style," Wrex approved warmly.

Tavia stuck the pistol back into her belt holster and slipped the sniper rifle from her shoulder, expertly tangling the sling around her arm. There was such a difference, she mused, between the loadout racks an Alliance soldier wore on her armor and the methods of carrying rifles used by the civilian sector. "Glad to hear it."

"You should pass some of that on to those punks of yours," the krogan continued amiably.

"Noted. You first." Tavia followed slightly behind Vakarian's shoulder as he followed Wrex until they reached the storage area the krogan mentioned. It was actually the antechamber _leading_ to the storage area, but there were several crates stacked up, mostly liquor, ready to be moved to the bar when needed.

"Up here." Wrex declared, thumping the cases. "I know Fist: he'll be screaming for reinforcements about now. And he can get 'em."

"I need a boost," Tavia declared without embarrassment.

Vakarian made to give her the requisite boost, locking his hands together so she could simply step up. It was what she would have preferred.

Wrex on the other hand waved a hand, a blue light flaring around his arm and Tavia's form.

She sucked air, but forced herself not to flail around. "Wow… that's new…" Tavia declared blankly as Wrex levitated her high enough to get her footing and manage the last few maneuvers under her own steam. The corner was cramped, but she had enough room to take the prone position if she kicked her heels up. "Okay. I'm tapped into your comms, so I hear what you hear."

With that, she settled behind her rifle, peering past the scope, the very image of an ambush predator.

Garrus: The Voice

Garrus expected—and got—resistance from Fist's people. Shepard's show when giving the crowd an incentive to clear out gave them plenty of advanced warning and time in which to mass.

The krogan, however, proved invaluable. Between his shotgun and his biotics, he cleared a path of destruction that made Garrus glad he knew where the krogan was standing… and that the krogan was standing _ahead_ of him.

" _Vakarian. I'm tapped into Fist's security system,_ " Shepard announced.

A remote tap, too. It took someone comfortable with tech and security systems to be comfortable with remote taps. More could go wrong without the physical element.

" _Smile for the camera._ " One of the surveillance cameras waggled, indicating which one he should look at.

He didn't look, but couldn't help smiling. It was strange having her in his ear and knowing she was watching without being present—even if it was only with one eye. He'd been part of coordinated operations before, but this was different. Maybe it was in her tone. She didn't issue crisp orders, but spoke in measured calm.

It was a tone that stimulated a feeling of trust in the invisible.

"Anything interesting?"

" _Yes. I've got people massing outside—but our departing patrons are making travel here tricky. Too many CRT vehicles coming and going. You've got six in the next room and beyond that what look like a few dock workers. They don't look armed and definitely look scared. Don't let Wrex get over-enthused._ "

Shepard's rifle barked, making his insides lurch. It was strange hearing the sound with his ears and through his radio.

" _Don't worry. It's a warning shot. Some civvie tried to see if it was all clear._ "

"You didn't shoot him too, did you?" Garrus asked, dryly.

Shepard chuckled at this, but didn't answer him.

"She whispering in your ear?" Wrex cooed before giving a laugh that came from deep in his secondary stomach. "Is it love or just a fling?"

The radio clicked softly as Shepard connected into Wrex's channel. " _Not anymore and neither, Wrex. You're still in the running. Don't get overenthusiastic, you've got civvies up ahead._ "

Garrus snorted. It was like watching someone shooting skeet, the way Shepard kept shooting down Wrex's smartass comments.

"Be easier to kill them," Wrex grunted, returning to the question of civilians up ahead.

Typical krogan…

" _I disagree, but Vakarian has the ultimate say. It's his op. Take it up with him._ "

Shepard fell silent as he and the krogan met the six-man resistance she'd mentioned.

He agreed with Shepard about the workers—you had to put food on the table, somehow, and that was what he told Wrex. Shepard didn't remark on the choice, but moved directly to the next step.

Wrex simply shrugged, as if he had no real opinion on the outcome one way or the other.

" _The quarian isn't appearing on any of the surveillance feeds. Fist is locked down in the next room—two automated turrets, he's armed and armored. Guess he couldn't afford a safe room. Also, I've got heat signatures massing outside at the front. I think his reinforcements finally got through. Damned if I know why they were off-site._ "

"Door's locked. Can you get us through?" Garrus asked. It didn't hurt to ask.

" _Can I get you through?_ "Shepard chuckled, her low voice almost a purr in his ear.

Something in Garrus' mind twitched. She was… _happy_. He hadn't heard her this positive and engaged since he met her. She might run a security firm but—and this was the sad part—her heart was still out in the field. Hands on, not trapped in some office making nice with clients.

The pad indicating lock status suddenly turned green with a gentle _ping_.

" _The turrets aren't wired into the security network, so I can't do anything about them without moving. Professional advice at this point is 'don't get shot.'_ "

That wasn't surprising, though he appreciated the heads-up about where her reach stopped. "How's the trouble on your end?"

" _Get to Fist, get our answers, then get back out here._ "

There was no telling whether she was worried or not. He suspected he wouldn't hear a trace of concern until she was close to panic.

Tavia: Hold the Line

" _Wait, wait! Don't kill me, I surrender!_ " the voice belonging, Tavia assumed, to Fist squeaked. He sounded like a real rat.

Tavia continued to rest on her belly, watching heat signatures amass before cuing her omnitool to give her the building's external surveillance feeds.

" _The quarian,_ " Vakarian cut across him. " _Tell me where she is, and I_ _won't_ _take out both your kneecaps_."

ArcSec goons again, she thought darkly. Maybe they'd contacted _for_ Saren _through_ Fist. That could be a valuable connection for Vakarian's investigation. But Fist's security still seemed a bit light; either he was cocky because he knew he was safe being 'the devil we know' as far as C-Sec was concerned… or he'd sent his goons off to wherever the quarian was and called them back right quick and in a hurry when Vakarian's op shot up the club.

" _She's not here! I don't know where she is, that's the truth._ "

Tavia doubted this—that he didn't know where she was, not that she wasn't here. "She's not here. I've been watching the surveillance feeds. So unless she's in a safe room… well. Fist would logically have been there too, if he had one."

Vakarian hummed his agreement.

Wrex 'humphed', the radio crackling gently as he did so. " _He's no use to you. Let me kill him_."

Tavia closed her connection to Wrex's channel. "Vakarian, I don't think there's really any saving Fist at this point. Give a little, take a little: let the krogan have him."

The turian grumbled something inarticulate, but didn't say anything directly to her. She thought she caught a sense of being conflicted. On the one hand, killing Fist would start the 'cleaning house' he'd wished for. On the other hand… due process.

He was going to have to reconcile being a cop and being a Spectre, or he was going to get himself or someone else hurt flopping between them when the pressure was on.

" _Wait, wait wait! I don't know where the quarian_ _is_ _, but I know where you can_ _find_ _her!_ "

"ArcSec's massing at the door. I think they're about ready to come in. Find out where the quarian is and find out if Fist was the man who put up the money for ArcSec." Tavia cut the surveillance feed to her eyepiece and returned it to thermal scan before using the security system to kill the ambient lights.

Lying in the darkness, Tavia adjusted her rifle and prepared to greet the first idiot through the door. Deep breath in.

" _She's not here—_ "

Deep breath out.

" _Yeah, we'd figured that part out,_ " Vakarian responded tersely. " _If you're expecting ArcSec to back you up, you're about to be very disappointed._ "

A short silence as Fist considered his possibilities. " _She said… she'd only deal with the Shadow Broker himself_."

" _Varren shit._ _No one_ _deals with the Shadow Broker himself_ ," Wrex sneered. " _Even_ _I_ _was hired through intermediaries. Paranoid bastard._ " It sounded like a compliment.

" _She_ _didn't know that. I told her I'd set a meeting up._ "

The door at the far end of the room slid open, a rectangle of light full of heat signatures.

" _You bastard_ ," Vakarian growled, thoroughly disgusted.

" _So I've been told,_ "Fist responded dryly.

"Where's the damn lights?" someone demanded.

"You need to hurry," Tavia breathed.

Wrex gave a growl of impatience. Immediately after, Fist screeched. It sounded to Tavia as if the krogan had stomped on the man, maybe taking out a knee. " _Where's the quarian?_ "

"No idea—" the banter on her end gave way to a muffle of mixed oaths and profanities.

Who taught them to enter a dark room like that? She sighted in on the nearest target, took a deep breath, let it half out…

 _Pff._ The shot was soft, but spattered the mercenary's head like a melon.

" _Here in the Wards!_ " Fist groaned, " _Warehouse… in a back alley…_ "

" _Nav-point_ ," Vakarian snapped.

 _Pff._ The moment of surprise during which no one reacted let her shoot a second merc.

" _Anything else?_ " Vakarian asked.

 _Pff._ This time, her bullet was met with gunfire, but they didn't seem certain where she was so none of it came remotely close to her. "Ask him who fronted the money for ArcSec. Hurry."

" _Who recommended those ArcSec assholes?_ " Vakarian demanded.

" _No idea—some asari intermediary. I never met the man with the money and that's the truth!_ "

" _We done?_ " Wrex demanded.

"I am. Get out here." The mercs were bunkering down, beginning to diffuse, creeping around the corners of the room. Surely some of them had thermal scans, and surely they would tell their comrades who didn't if anything worth shooting at showed up.

" _Good._ "

Tavia took her finger off the trigger, waiting for the sound that would signify Fist's death. She wasn't disappointed, and without anticipation for the impending gunshot she gently squeezed the trigger without fear of a startled jerk.

" _What the hell are you doing?_ "Vakarian demanded.

"His job," Tavia intoned.

 _Pff._

" _I was hired to kill him, and I don't leave jobs half done. How're you holding up out there, sweetheart?_ " Was that… a kissing sound?

Gross. Tavia shuddered at the thought, but she laughed, too. "At this rate I won't need you at all. I've got about ten guys left. Vakarian: if that visor's got thermal, you'll need it. I'm making them work blind."

" _Wrex, go ahead of me. Shepard, I'm going to strip Fist's terminal. Maybe there'll be something useful in there. A start to the money trail._ "

"I like it when you think like a cop." It made him dependable.

" _Hit the lights. I don't work blind,_ " Wrex declared.

"Let me know when you reach the door. I need to see to shoot and I don't stop until I've got backup."

 _Pff._

Garrus: Professional

Garrus didn't watch Wrex thunder off, but stepped across Fist's body and around the man's workspace. He propped his rifle against the desk and applied himself to trying to get past Fist's security protocols. The terminal was well-protected.

" _Wow. I'm glad we brought the krogan,_ " Shepard declared thoughtfully.

"He doing a good job?"

" _Marvelous. How's that terminal?_ "

Her rifle whispered again, followed by a self-satisfied 'hmph.' The four letter word expressed a whole sentiment 'damn, I've still got it.' "Uh… work in progress."

" _Good. We're under control here._ " A faint click signifying a return to open channel. " _Wrex! Don't chase them out! Just let them scurry._ "

" _Why?_ " The krogan demanded.

" _Because I'm putting a call in to C-Sec right now. They're right next door and can bag up the leftovers._ "

Garrus frowned at the terminal, managing to pass the first layer of security, but finding himself met with another—and this one didn't look like something a goon like Fist would normally employ. It was tight, neat, professional. He waited while Shepard put in the call—name dropping as she did so. "Shepard," he called, once she signed off.

" _Yes?_ "

"How're your security skills?"

She chuckled smugly. " _Just let me get down off of this box. Only an idiot attaches his terminal to the main security grid._ "

"No, I'll just bring the whole damn thing. You can play with it later."

" _Garrus, if that thing's rigged you could potentially trigger a full wipe. Let me have a look and see if I can't safely sever the drive. Wrex, you got this?_ "

" _Oh, I got this!_ "A dull thunk and crunch indicated Wrex had performed an infamous krogan charge… into a wall… with a merc as a cushion.

Garrus almost felt sorry for whatever soft merc the krogan had squished. Almost.

Shepard arrived at a limping run, stepped around, linking her omnitool to Fist's terminal and levering herself to sit on his desk. She exhaled some relief as the weight vanished from her knee, but she gave no other sign that pain had impeded her in any way. She worked steadily for a few minutes, her attention so fixed that Garrus suspected a bomb could go off without disturbing her. She worked accurately (from what he could tell) and at speed.

" _All done here. I'll wait,_ "Wrex announced.

"Bingo." Shepard suddenly cracked the terminal and produced the data drive. "Wrex, forward us the navpoint for this meeting place." Her omnitool flared almost immediately. "Thank you."

" _My pleasure._ "

Garrus shook his head. The krogan's voice dripped with something he'd rather not think about.

Shepard surprised him by chuckling good-naturedly. "Careful, Wrex. I might be starting to like you."

" _Would that be so bad?_ " the krogan snickered. " _Why are you hanging around with the C-Sec stuffed shirt?_ "

Shepard chuckled again as she set off at her limping run to rejoin the krogan. "At least you remember who's in charge of this operation. No more messy shootings."

The krogan laughed again. " _I was afraid of that._ "

Garrus shook his head as they turned into the main lounge. Whether Wrex meant he was afraid of Shepard not being the lead hat or not being allowed any more messy shootings, he wasn't sure. What he was sure of though, was that Wrex had decided Shepard was worthy of respect… and Garrus felt sure that meant that Wrex could be counted on to follow Shepard's orders, if she issued any.

He'd never seen a krogan take to someone so quickly.

Then again, Shepard was an N7, a warrior in her own right. Maybe that was what Wrex picked up on even without being told.

Or maybe the krogan was just that damn bored, now that his manhunt was over.

Garrus spared one glance for the mercenaries that lay dead near the club's exit, most of them obviously picked off by Shepard, their heads spongy masses or simply not there at all. One or two sported chest wounds, but the placements were precise.

She still had it. It was sad to think that the Alliance let talent like that go because they got the heebie-jeebies.

Which begged the question of why she'd never got that knee fixed. Medicine could do some pretty amazing things, after all. Why live with pain and difficulty?


	7. Chapter 7

Garrus: Quarian

" _I think we're all clear,_ " Shepard declared softly into the waiting silence.

"Good," Garrus nodded, striding over to where the quarian lay, her chair having been knocked over during the fight. The girl struggled as if she could somehow slip her bindings, but Garrus suspected she struggled because it was the only constructive thing she could do.

" _You might want to dial back, Vakarian. Stomping around like that, you're going to scare the kid. Put your cop hat on._ "

Garrus wanted to roll his eyes, but decided that would be pointless since Shepard couldn't see the gesture. Instead, he knelt behind the quarian, helped her sit up and untied her hands. "Are you hurt?" he forced himself to sound reassuring and realized Shepard had a point: the effort he had to put in moderating his tone suggested he would have sounded callous at best and aggressive at worst.

And aggressive wasn't what would help.

" _I like it when you wear your cop hat._ "

He was _so_ glad she approved.

"Y-Yes," the quarian rasped. Her faced was obscured, except for the hint of vivid eyes, currently painfully wide. "I-who are you? Not that I'm complaining, but maybe I should be—"

" _Tell her your name, not who you're with._ "

"Will you _stop_ that?" Garrus demanded, putting a hand over one audial well. "It's distracting."

" _If she shoots you for intimidating her, I didn't see_ _anything_ _._ "

He could feel the spot she'd bruised ache a little.

"I-sorry?" the quarian asked.

"Our esteemed third party consultant…" Garrus grumbled. "I'm Garrus Vakarian. That's Wrex… and the voice in our heads would be Tavia Shepard."

To his chagrin, Shepard chuckled at this. Suddenly, there was a sound of someone falling and Shepard yelped. The uncontrolled sound made Garrus clamp a hand to his audial canal. "Shepard?" The ringing in his ear would go away, but there had been a note of genuine fright in her cry.

Damn that knee… he was sure that was the culprit.

" _I'm okay! Just slipped a little!_ " But there was pain in her tone. " _I'm okay._ "

"Dammit." With that, Wrex strode over to the source of the sound. A moment later, he appeared with Shepard leaning on his arm, her limp more pronounced than ever. Her face looked a bit pale and any feature that could be contracted seemed to be. Ruts of pain etched themselves in the skin between her eyebrows.

Unabashedly, Shepard righted the quarian's abandoned chair and sat down, one hand on her knee, the other rubbing her shoulder. "Okay. That _did_ hurt," she allowed.

"Some warrior," Wrex grunted.

"I can still shoot you," Shepard returned tartly but without rancor.

Wrex snorted, but Garrus thought the twist of his mouth might have been a smile. If Shepard wasn't careful, Wrex might just follow her home. What a thought.

"Are you going to be okay?" Garrus demanded. He didn't moderate his tone, this time, and caught exactly how biting it was. "Sorry—adrenaline. Do I need to get you a medic?" he asked, moderating his tone.

Shepard nodded understandingly. "I'm fine. It's just… been a longer day than I'm used to. More exercise, too." She turned her attention to the quarian who, by now, seemed almost bemused if still cautious.

Garrus wasn't sure he believed her, but he said nothing. He simply followed suit, finding a patch on the arm of the quarian's suit. "You're the one Dr. Michel treated, aren't you?"

"Yes," the quarian answered nervously. "She-why would she…?"

"She didn't know," Garrus put in gently. "This isn't Dr. Michel's fault. She really believed that Fist would help you."

The quarian wrung her hands, but continued to try sounding confident. "So, if you're not working for Fist, who are you working for?"

"I am an investigator," Garrus answered cagily, "the krogan—"

" _Wrex_ ," the old krogan put in darkly. "He has a name, and it's _Urdnot_ _Wrex_."

"…is an independent interest. And Ms. Shepard is a security consultant." Garrus glanced at Shepard, who sat studying the quarian thoughtfully, her rifle laid across her knees.

"What's your name?" Shepard asked affably, as if this were all very normal.

Whether because of her tone or because she asked a personal question, the quarian responded well to Shepard.

Garrus repressed a smirk. Cop hat, indeed.

"Tali'Zorah nar Rayya," the quarian answered, turning her head to regard the human. "Are you… okay?"

"Old injury," Shepard made a point to stand up, smiling. "See? No problem." She lifted one foot, balanced for a few moments on the damaged limb, then put her foot down. Garrus wasn't sure the quarian saw it, but _he_ did: it had cost Shepard a real effort to make the display that all was well. "Were you hurt at all?"

"No. I can look after myself… ah… to an… extent…" the quarian quelled under Garrus' stern glance. This was _not_ his definition of taking care of oneself.

"We should take her back to C-Sec," Garrus declared.

"Why bother?" the quarian snapped. "The crisis is _over_. I don't need their help _now_."

Unseen by Tali, Garrus motioned Shepard to continue. It was clear that the quarian's bitterness over earlier behavior toward her put Shepard in better stead to get the girl talking.

"I know you spoke to a real asshole the other day. But he wasn't C-Sec—he was a secretarial stooge. And I've met a couple C-Sec assholes, but we're not C-Sec and we do want to help you," Shepard declared.

"Why?" Tali demanded mulishly, though she did seem more inclined to consider what Shepard had to say.

"Because the garbage we took care of here tried to kill me, too. And I take that sort of thing personally." In those two sentences, Shepard exerted such a force of personality that the quarian instinctively took a half step closer to her. It was the tone of someone who would go through fire and water to _fix_ this situation, complications be damned.

"Why would they want to kill you?" Tali frowned.

"Because I have something up here that might be a liability," Shepard answered, tapping her head. "A human colony was attacked by the geth," the quarian sucked air, "because of a Prothean artifact. I know something about the artifact."

It was more information than Garrus wanted public knowledge, but he couldn't argue that the 'we're in this together' cant worked for Shepard.

"…and _I_ know something about the geth…" the quarian trailed off, her hand-wringing beginning again. "I-I won't talk about it here. I want to go someplace safe."

"Give me a minute to… make arrangements," Garrus declared, his mind turning over possibilities. He wanted a way to prevent—or at least discourage—another nighttime raid on his witnesses.

"I don't like that pause," the quarian declared to Shepard, moving closer to the woman.

Garrus almost didn't hear Shepard. "You can trust Vakarian. He's heading this operation. He's good people."

"If you say so," the quarian mumbled.

"I do."

Tavia: Proofs

Tavia was glad Vakarian didn't drag them all back to C-Sec.

Wrex, mission fulfilled, went his own way as soon as Vakarian announced that arrangements were made with the C-Sec officers who had (finally) responded to her call. She suspected they were a bit slow on account of the Spectre doing the Spectre-thing. Waiting meant fewer bullets.

Vakarian's 'arrangements' proved to be another 'safe' apartment—this time Tavia suspected it would be surrounded by C-Sec guards. It was wise not to take Tali back to the Academy.

Tavia had no sooner settled in one of the chairs than her short night and long day began to catch up with her. Suddenly, weariness suffused her body, making her knee pulse with pain. It wasn't the worst the damaged joint ever gave her, just a pointed reminder that it was _not_ up to the life adventurous.

"Tavia? _Do_ I need to get a medic in here?" Vakarian asked the question so hesitantly this second time that she chuckled.

"No. A couple of painkillers might be nice, but I'm okay. Thanks for asking." It was true, too… or so she told herself.

Vakarian nodded, then proceeded to raid the cabinets until he found a bottle of generic painkillers. He even poured and brought her a glass of water so she wouldn't have to pop them dry.

"I like it when you wear your cop hat," she declared for the second time that evening, raising the glass of water as if in a toast before tossing back the pills.

"So you are C-Sec," Tali said accusingly, snapping her head away from the window at which she stood to scowl at the pair of them.

"I'm not, but he was—past tense," Tavia put in, firmly, holding up a finger. She'd meant what she said about Vakarian being good people and calculated that, by now, coming clean about Vakarian's former C-Sec connections would be advisable. No surprises when it inevitably came out. His turning out to be a Spectre would be more… acceptable… in a way. "Tali—may I call you by your first name?"

"Sure…" Tali answered, a little self-consciously.

Tavia though she understood what that was about: quarians were widely reviled for the geth's existence… despite the fact that the geth had, until now, minded their own damn business. As far as Tavia was concerned, the geth weren't this generation of quarians' fault or problem. The generations responsible were long dead. Her personal code of ethics required that children (or multiple times great grandchildren) not be blamed for the mistakes, indiscretions, or stupidity of their forbearers.

Although, she had to admit, she was a little more cautious about the krogan than the quarians. Krogan lived for centuries and their grudge was kept fresh with every successive generation. She believed that there had to be some kind of compromise, but at the same time couldn't think of a solution that wouldn't end in a galactic bloodbath.

She shook herself; moralizing to herself was pointless. "I hate to get straight to business, Tali, but we need to know what was so important that you had to die for it."

Tali came closer, pulled up a chair, and sat facing Tavia. "I'm on my Pilgrimage, my rite of passage into adulthood," she explained. "I'd been hearing rumors of geth moving outside the Veil… _before_ your colony was attacked…" Tali sounded so guilty that Tavia put a reassuring hand on her arm. "If I'd thought anyone would listen—"

"It wouldn't have mattered," Tavia said bracingly. "But I appreciate the thought."

Tali nodded. "What I found is this, data I salvaged from a geth memory core—"

"I thought geth wiped their memory cores on destruction," Vakarian frowned. To Tavia's relief, he didn't sound accusatory.

"They do," Tali answered. "But if you're careful and lucky, sometimes data can be recovered. This was what I found." She cued her omnitool. There was no visual, only audio static.

" _Eden Prime was a major vic—_ "

"That's Saren," Vakarian tensed, his eyes riveting on Tali's omnitool.

"Shh," Tavia waved him to silence, feeling herself tense as well. So, that was the voice of the shadowy figure making her life difficult and disrupted…

"— _beacon has brought us one step closer to finding the Conduit._ "

" _And one step closer to the return of the Reapers._ "

Tavia's world suddenly seemed to pitch, sliding sideways at the woman's last word. Her breath stopped, the word _Reapers_ screaming in her mind, bringing with it jagged visions, snippets from the beacons. Black terror pulsed through her veins, that black pit in her mind with all its demons, devils and fiends opening up so fast she thought it might pounce and swallow her down. Sweat immediately formed a thick coating on her skin and she had to force herself to start breathing again, the sharp breaths of a cornered creature. The muscles in her chest tightened and she found herself shaking uncontrollably.

"Shepard?" She heard his voice, knew it was Vakarian, knew that the three-digit grasp that closed around her arm was also his.

But at the same time her brain seemed to lock up, hedging out anything not directly pertinent to the threat, the great threat, the legion of calamities…

Tavia yelped, almost falling sideways out of her chair. Her eyes saw Vakarian, reaching for her shoulder with his other hand. Her mind, reeling from the resurgence of the beacon's flow of images, of the inarticulate terror the beacons had twice marked her with, saw a hand-like ship rushing her. She tore loose and hit the ground with an 'oof!" raising her hands to protect her face.

The pain was more real than the terror, more pressing… but not enough to free her from the slow sink into the mire—

"What's wrong with her?" Tali demanded, her tone sharp with concern and helplessness, chair clattering as she stumbled back to give Tavia room.

"Shh, hang on. Shepard? Tavia?" A hand appeared from nowhere to rest on her forehead. The palm was cooler than her own body, rough as if completely covered in calluses, but nonthreatening. Since she couldn't _see_ it, it brought no memories that weren't hers, no sharp visions of ships with finger-like appendages reaching out for her.

Tavia raised her eyes to Vakarian's face, craning her neck ridiculously far back so she could see him clearly. "They're coming…" she whispered before her world simply blanked out.

Garrus: Fair Warnings

After taking the rest to the quarian's briefing—in which she explained how the geth and these 'Reapers' were connected—Garrus found that he hadn't liked leaving Shepard and the quarian unattended.

Partly it was Shepard's sudden episode, even though it passed quickly, rather like a nasty flashback that stalled action and reason. She had passed out, true, but had come back to herself moments later, as if her mind had simply initialized an emergency restart.

It was also partly because both women had been attacked on the Citadel within spitting distance of the Presidium.

However, he couldn't just sit around and watch them pour over Fist's data drives. It had been Shepard, of course, who suggested that no one was better suited to cracking the security on them than a quarian and an engineer—he still couldn't help but think of bridges and fortifications when she said that. She had him there, though she went on to point out that if Saren had plants within C-Sec _maybe_ it was best to avoid accidents and make sure he, Garrus, knew where the drive was and who was handling it.

She really had him there.

The only drawback was the fact that the quarian and Shepard both needed rest. He hadn't realized how much time had passed since getting the call from Anderson about the attack at Shepard's apartment. He rubbed his own eyes, wondering if pushing himself like this was wise. Especially when the best source of evidence was currently in the hands of an engineer and a quarian… and out of his.

He took a deep breath. He needed to plan, to come up with a next step. Obviously he had to find out what was on the drives, to find out if there was any more concrete link between Saren and Eden Prime… though the words out of his own turian mouth should be damning enough.

 _If_ he wasn't a Spectre.

No, Garrus thought grimly, diverting from his route back to C-Sec to head to his apartment. Shepard had his communication information now, and could reach him directly if she needed to. He could draft his reports at home as easily as at C-Sec.

His terminal was beeping and blinking when he got home with messages diverted from his omnitool based on sender or subject line. In this case, he wished he didn't have the filter: one of the messages was from Anderson, wanting to discuss Shepard's involvement with this mess _immediately._ It was politely worded, but clearly the aging captain was genuinely worried for his former comrade.

"Anderson. It's Vakarian."

" _I was starting to think I'd have to camp out at C-Sec. Where's Tavia?_ "

Oh. She was 'Tavia' today instead of 'Shepard.' "Safe, and doing me a favor," Garrus answered.

" _Favor?_ " Despite the surprise in his tone, the captain didn't ask any questions about what that favor might be. " _How's she holding up?_ "

Garrus frowned at the terminal. "Glad to be doing her real job." He'd left her still feeling shaken from her sudden attack, but increasingly happily playing with the datadrives with her new best friend.

For a moment, Anderson maintained a dark sort of silence. " _I'd avoid that topic. It's touchy with a lot of people. Better medical retirement than a psychological discharge._ _That_ _would have put a real dent in her life._ "

Garrus looked away. So that was where the friction between Anderson and Shepard was: she'd wanted to stay, Anderson had wanted to protect her future since staying was not an option. It was a real mess. "You just call to check in on her? I thought you had her information?"

" _She turned the damn thing off._ "

"…well, she's been busy…" Garrus offered lamely.

" _Right. You should know that her involvement is starting to get… political._ "

That asshole ambassador. Garrus had had nothing to do with the man personally, but he knew people who had. And anyone who saw Udina making noise could tell he wasn't the best man for the job. Pushy, arrogant, and prone to spitting when he got worked up, Garrus usually pitied the Council over having to deal with him.

Not so much this week, though. He was with the salarians: what goes around really should come around.

" _If you connect Saren to this, Udina wants to use it as a platform to push harder for a human Spectre. I'm telling you because Tavia makes the most likely candidate. In his eyes, at least._ "

"There's nothing wrong with her that a support team and a few surgeries wouldn't fix," Garrus grumped, caught in a vein of fairness. The Turian military wouldn't have been so wasteful.

" _You don't think I didn't try to convince her to get them done?_ " Anderson snapped. " _She won't. She wouldn't tell me why, but she won't. When I saw how much it upset her every time I brought it up, I stopped pushing._ "

"Have you seen her shoot?" Garrus asked. A support team would negate the need for her to be incredibly mobile.

" _Why was she shooting?_ " Anderson demanded, startled.

"…because there were thugs in the club." Garrus knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help stringing the officer along _just_ a bit.

But Anderson seemed to catch on and gave a 'hmph' that reminded Garrus forcibly of Wrex. " _Didn't want you—or her—caught flatfooted by this. I don't think it'll fly, but you never know._ "

"Thanks for the warning. Is there anything else, Captain?"

" _That depends on how things go from here. I'm not at liberty to discuss it._ "

Which meant, Garrus supposed, that the Alliance would continue to court his favor if the thing with Shepard fell through. As he signed off from Anderson, he considered the possibilities. Shepard could coordinate well, and Spectres often took damage as their careers progressed.

He was glad that his opinion was unlikely to matter in the grand scheme of things. He was the new guy. He didn't get to weigh in on possible other new guys.

Tavia: Agendas

Tavia's good mood over having cracked the security on the datadrive—due in no small part to Tali's input and assistance—evaporated as soon as she checked her messages. It evaporated so much and so fast that she let her fork of eggs drop onto her plate and refused to eat another bite.

She tried not to let Tali see the irritation that threatened to blossom into full anger, but she failed.

It showed in the way Tali gave her plenty of space and stopped talking. The girl was loquacious and Tavia hadn't minded. Now she wished Tali would chatter just to fill up the apartment with sound—even if she wouldn't incline to participate much in conversation.

Vakarian arrived late in the morning, looking like someone who hadn't gotten enough sleep. "Oh… I see Anderson got ahold of you. Uh… wow…"

"He left me a message," Tavia answered bitterly. She got to her feet, trying to control the scream of fury building up in her chest. She was not given to intemperate displays but in this case, she felt as enraged as she would have if some drunk had tried to feel her up. Well, as enraged as she would be after she beat him to death with his own… well. Her teeth were grinding, and any train of thought she embarked upon ending in flames. "Don't worry. It'll never happen."

"You don't want it?"

Vakarian's question seemed genuine enough, so Tavia fought to curb a snarled answer. She felt trapped, like a wolverine in a trap. "They threw me away. Damned if I do _anything_ to advance their political agendas. I need a damn shower. I feel dirty." With that, she stalked off to follow through with her declaration.

Garrus: Sympathy

Garrus frowned as Shepard stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

"She's been like that all morning," the quarian put in meekly. "What happened?"

"Politics," Garrus grunted. It bothered him, the look on her face before she covered it with rage and stormed off. "It's a harebrained scheme hatched by her species' asshole ambassador. Nothing will come of it."

He wondered how far she would go to ensure that eventuality. And it did seem dirty dealing for her former Alliance superiors to give her the boot only to require her cooperation now. You wouldn't catch the Hierarchy pulling garbage like that.

He didn't know her well, but he couldn't help the bitter thought that she deserved better than to be thrown this way and that like meat to wild animals. It left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Oh! We cracked the datadrives this morning!" the quarian cried. The effort of sounding cheerful when she'd picked up on his deep displeasure was laudable.

"Good. Anything useful?"

"I don't know. Tavia thought it was hit and miss. She summarized the data for you, but you can look over the datadrives yourself if you want to." The quarian produced a datapad and held it out to him.

It was written briskly in the style he would have expected of ex-military personnel, brisk and concise. The drives hinted that Fist had been paid through an intermediary and that ArcSec was hired through that same intermediary. She didn't have a name, just a title: the Matriarch. It was less a title and more a descriptor, as Garrus well knew, but it worried him. Asari in their last life phase were called Matriarchs—and because they had survived so long they were…

The official line was wise advisors, caretakers of the asari people, founts of knowledge.

Garrus suspected that they were more like shrewd, cunning, and intelligent women with enough life experience to see patterns from history as they reoccurred. No species was as benevolent as the asari liked to sound. A Matriarch would have the added advantage that few among the younger members of her species would want to cross her lightly.

He looked back to the datapad, watched the quarian jump as a loud 'thunk' issued from the bathroom. It sounded suspiciously as if Shepard had given way to temper and punched the wall. He felt bad for the wall.

"This looks good," he said, more for something to say than for any other reason.

"I was glad to help," came the encouraged reply, though Tali continued looking at the wall in the direction of the ominous thump.

He tuned the quarian out. Maybe some of the sternness had left his expression as he continued skimming Shepard's notes. She had carefully flagged any surmise on her part, but her logic that supported these suppositions always followed in clear lines.

Combat manipulation and data synthesis. If Shepard was an example of human engineers—combat engineers—then he'd been underestimating at least one segment of the human military. And if he was underestimating one, he knew he was probably underestimating more.

"Do you think she'll be okay?" the quarian asked.

"She's just angry with no way to work it off," Garrus answered blandly.

"I… what's going to happen to me?"

The hesitancy of the question broke him away from Shepard's discourse on somehow how obtaining business records from ArcSec would be advisable, if difficult. She didn't provide how-to or plans on this matter, but he suspected that was simply because it would be highly illegal for someone like her.

"You're going to stay under C-Sec guard until this mess gets mopped up." He sounded so cold and impassive that he backpedaled. "Once we're sure this matter is cleared up you'll be allowed to go back to your business. But right now, like Shepard, you're a guest." He forced a smile, watched the quarian's posture relax a little as her hand drifted to rub at her arm. "How's that healing, by the way?"

"It's healing," the quarian answered softly. "…I've never been shot before."

He hesitantly patted her shoulder. Turians were not a publically tactile species, but humans and asari tended to be… and quarians… well, he had to guess and used the way she'd gravitated to stand closer to Shepard when feeling threatened as a sign of comfort with proximity.

"Is there anything else I can do to help?" the quarian asked.

"Not right now, no. Just… keep Shepard from destroying the furniture."

The quarian nodded, and he took his leave.

Tavia: Pain

Tavia grabbed clothes from her duffle bag and threw herself into the bathroom. She almost tore her clothes off, glad to be where no one could see her temper overflowing. She wrenched the water on and scowled at it as steam began to blossom from the showerhead. Then she turned the water towards the colder side of the temperature spectrum.

The bastards.

She stepped under the spray, the cold shocking her skin and mind. She shivered, found her eyes stinging.

Those damn bastards.

She held up a hand, found it shaking furiously. She hadn't lost her temper in a long, long time. Oh she'd shouted a bit in the last few days but that was just venting, the outgassing of emotional pressure. This, though, this was different.

How _dare_ they throw her away and then want to use her again? Because, of course, they'd _claimed_ medical retirement. And if she balked… they were able—and probably willing to—reactivate her. Another reason, she thought bitterly, for medical _retirement._ There had to be a way, some clause in the rules that would let them compel her.

"In case of war, break glass," Tavia growled to herself. She punched the wall as hard as she could, the pain in her knuckles failing to detract from her towering fury. Tears began to slip from her eyes.

She knew Anderson had thought he was acting in her best interests after Akuze. She couldn't fault him for going with his conscience. But this… he was too much of an Alliance man to be in her corner, this time.

Which meant she was in the corner by herself.

But that was stupid, she growled to herself, pouring shampoo into her hands for something to do. Because the Council would _never_ accept a human into the ranks of Spectres, especially not Udina's suggestion, especially not on such specious activities, and _especially_ not when her own military put her aside like a superglued broken toy.

It should have calmed her, but it didn't. That meant, and she knew it meant, she was not afraid of being turned into a political performing monkey; she was simply angry at the attempt to do so.

She rinsed her hair, running her hand through the lion-toned locks. The first thing she'd done after being retired was to grow her hair out, start wearing makeup and jewelry, anything to divorce herself from active duty life. Short hair fit better under a helmet; makeup ruined her skin when she got sweaty and gross—which sometimes happened on short notice; jewelry could get caught or crushed.

She sank to the floor, drawing up her knees as the freezing water beat over her. For the first time since the aftermath of Akuze, she succumbed to tears, trusting the cold water to chase the flush from her face when she couldn't take the chill any longer.

Garrus: The Councilor

Garrus had, when he set foot in the Embassy, been glad that Spectres could jump to the front of the line where Councilors were concerned… _if_ the Councilor was willing to let them. In this case, Councilor Sparatus was willing to slip him in between the meeting he was in now and the next.

As soon as Garrus stepped into the Councilor's office, he found himself feeling much less certain.

Councilor Sparatus sat behind a large, semi-circular desk, up to his eyeballs in paperwork. He didn't look harassed or harried, but Garrus though he detected a twitch of irritation on the Councilor's face. Whether this was from his appearance or from something the Councilor was dealing with—an independent matter—Garrus couldn't even begin to guess.

Garrus shuddered at the thought: paperwork was one of the things he'd hated most about C-Sec. The better you were at your job, the more of it there was. And that seemed, to him, to be such a waste. If you were good you belonged where you could do your job, not mired in the bureaucracy. Let the green recruits do the paperwork, stay out of trouble between jobs.

"Garrus."

"Councilor." He took a deep breath, holding up his datapad. "I believe there's sufficient evidence to present to the Council."

Councilor Sparatus got to his feet, took the datapad and began to read it. The slow flick of his eyes told Garrus he was giving it real consideration. Once he finished reading, he played the attached clip from the geth's memory core.

" _Eden Prime was a major victory. The beacon has brought us one step closer to finding the Conduit._ "

" _And one step closer to the return of the Reapers._ "

"And you put this through every validation you could think of?" Councilor Sparatus asked.

"Yes, sir. No sign of clipping or tampering, voice signature matched his record. It's definitely Saren." Garrus' nerves began to hum as the Councilor considered the matter stoically, giving no hint as to what he thought.

"And you believe this data came from an actual _geth_?"

Garrus considered the matter. He had no way of knowing one way or the other: the data was just data. It wasn't as if the quarian had brought the memory core with her… though that would have been nice. Inconvenient for her to lug around maybe, but good for his investigation. "I believe the quarian had no reason to lie about it."

"And mercenaries shooting up the Presidium," Councilor Sparatus rumbled, putting the datapad down. "You do know your human witness isn't considered reliable."

"There is nothing wrong with my human witness," Garrus declared flatly. "Any garbage with her people's political structure is completely independent of her contribution to this investigation."

"Hmph. I should have known that wouldn't stay quiet for long. What's your opinion, since we're discussing it?"

Garrus considered long and hard before answering. "I wouldn't recommend her as a Spectre. Support personnel though, yes. Her training fits her for that. But she's not Spectre material herself."

Councilor Sparatus' smile was faint, but Garrus was certain he saw it before it vanished. "Are you quite certain?"

"Very." He didn't like where this was going. He saw his investigation navigating around a roadblock based solely on his impression of Shepard's fitness for Spectre candidacy.

"I think you have enough information here to warrant the Council's attention," Councilor Sparatus declared. "I'll see what I can do. Meanwhile, don't let your witnesses go anywhere."

Garrus nodded, then excused himself.

Why did he feel like he'd just sold Shepard out?


	8. Chapter 8

Tavia: Briefing

"What's all this?" Ambassador Udina demanded nasally as Tavia, Tali and Vakarian (in that order) strode into his office. Tavia and Vakarian strode, Tali actually bobbed between them. Tavia didn't blame Tali for being nervous: the last time she was here she'd been within an inch of being forcibly removed.

Dumbass security clerk. Tali's resigned 'that's just the way it is' when she'd explained the full story had touched Tavia's simmering temper and it took all her willpower not to let that temper go up like straw to a match. To say she was feeling touchy would be a monumental understatement, Tavia thought darkly.

She'd never met Ambassador Udina before, never seen him anywhere but on the news—but he'd sounded so repetitious that one segment a quarter was more than sufficient to keep her up to date on his general politics.

"This is former Commander Shepard," Anderson put in. She hadn't been surprised to enter and find him already present. He looked harassed and somewhat… uncomfortable. Well, Tavia thought sourly, he would be, given the content of his last message.

"Ah. The one-woman wrecking crew," Udina rumbled, his eyes narrowing speculatively. Tavia opened her mouth to debunk him of this notion, but Udina spoke before she could. "You're not making my job easy, Shepard."

" _Ms._ Shepard, please," Tavia declared mildly, earning a dirty 'don't play games with me' look that did nothing to intimidate her. Udina might be able to push politicians around, but she wasn't a politician and Hugh and Hannah Shepard hadn't raised someone who could be bullied by their supposed social superiors.

"Firefights in the Wards? An all-out assault on Chora's den? Do you know how much fire I've been fielding thanks to your little escapades?"

" _My_ escapades, I think you'll find," Vakarian put in easily, stepping away from the wall.

"And who are you?" Udina asked, his eyes traveling over the turian, and the quarian. From his sour expression they were as welcome in his office as the bills he'd received for property damages or complaints about his people causing trouble.

Vakarian, with what she was sure was a smile, stepped forward. "Vakarian, Garrus Vakarian. Citadel Special Tactics and Reconnaissance." An awkward silence ensued, which Valarian let settle and sink in before continuing. "And you'll also find that _Ms. Shepard_ was a victim on that first occasion and operating under _my_ jurisdiction on the second. Please amend the records and forward the bills to me."

When, Tavia wondered, was the last time Udina had an alien backsass him in this office? From the look on his leathery face… never. She approved Vakarian's smooth dismissal of Udina's ire and appreciated having the fire deflected. Was he having as much fun shutting Udina's rant down as she was watching him do it?

Unfortunately, Udina's apparent comfort with the idea that she could still lead these sorts of operations from the fore did not bode well for her immediate future. She caught Anderson's eye; when he realized she was frowning at him, he waved discreetly. _Be patient._

Tavia pursed her lips, but returned to her calm observation.

"Then I take it you're the reason the Council sent us a summons this morning," Udina declared trying and failing to moderate his tone.

"Your inclusion was a courtesy, since the matter being discussed closely affected one of your people," Vakarian answered.

Someone ate his equivalent of Wheatie-Os that morning, Tavia decided. She hoped it would hold up once he was no longer dealing with a shifty politician.

"Ms. Shepard, if you would brief the ambassador on our findings…?" Vakarian asked politely.

Garrus: Briefing

"Of course, Spectre."

Garrus would never admit it, but he did enjoy ruffling Udina's feathers. The rudeness was inexcusable and Udina clearly had distorted ideas about what was going on. He _would_ try to play for a human Spectre… but Garrus fully intended to counter the idea at every turn… not because he disapproved of the idea but because he didn't think Shepard was the right candidate.

Shepard spoke briskly though not in detail, covering only the salient points and emphasizing that she was _not_ the lead hat in any way, shape, or form. 'That position belongs to him' (and she pointed to make sure there was no question in the Ambassador's mind).

Garrus might have argued this, but there was little point. He had worried about Shepard's reaction to the word 'Reapers' but this time she only turned pale, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed, but she retained control of herself. Perhaps knowing the invocation of them would cause her difficulties was enough for her to steel herself against them.

Or maybe it was just an initial reaction to being ambushed by the in-context name for the thing that had subconsciously haunted her for years. Part of him wondered if that subconscious, nameless fear was why she never got her knee fixed: she didn't want to be lamed up when trouble finally arrived, and since she didn't know when that would be…

It sounded far too likely an answer.

As Shepard lectured, Anderson's expression grew grimly hopeful. By the time she finished, the captain looked almost malevolent.

"The geth think Saren is a… prophet for these Reapers?" Udina asked darkly.

"That's what they believe," Shepard answered carefully.

"And what about what _you_ believe?" Udina pushed. "I was under the impression you'd found some kind of mention of them independent of the geth…"

Shepard shot a nasty look at Anderson. "My _opinion_ is not admissible as evidence since there is no concrete backing for it," she answered diplomatically, if a little shortly.

Garrus frowned as Udina proceeded to play cat and mouse with Shepard. She did not let the ambassador's search for the truth ruffle her, she simply sidestepped at every turn without hiding that evading answering his questions was _exactly_ what she was doing.

Finally, the ambassador realized that Shepard could and would do this all day if need be and dropped the matter. "Then let's hope your… experiences… don't diminish you in the eyes of the Council."

"I'm merely a consultant. They shouldn't even be _looking_ at me," Shepard put in firmly.

"If there's nothing else, Ambassador, I'd like to take these ladies to the Citadel Tower," Garrus broke in, his tone suggestive that he wasn't really asking.

"I-what? Oh, yes, yes. I'll meet you there."

"I'll go as well," Anderson declared, following the trio out of the room.

Shepard scowled at him. "Anderson, if my… _experiences_ …" she inflected her tone to match Udina's, "become public knowledge, it will _ruin_ me. No one trusts a mentally unstable head of a security firm."

"That's not going to happen," Anderson put in reassuringly.

Shepard did not look the least bit comforted; in fact, she started to look truly angry. "Anderson, I respect you, but if I burn for this, I swear I will dedicate my immediate future to making the biggest legal shitstorm the Alliance has ever seen," Shepard growled.

"It _won't_ come to that," Garrus broke in gently. He recognized fear—fear and not the anger he initially thought it was—when he heard it.

Shepard pursed her lips, then nodded once in acceptance of his reassurance. He somehow doubted she put much faith in that reassurance, though. He didn't blame her. Still, he'd do what he could to help if it came to anything like that. After all, he was responsible for her since he'd dragged her into this.

"It _won't_ ," Anderson reinforced. Whatever he thought about Shepard's threat, it didn't show on his face. Maybe he thought her concern ridiculously valid. Maybe he believed it wouldn't be as big a concern as she did. "Still, you've linked Saren to this mess."

"It's not enough to hang him," Shepard sighed.

"You don't think so?" Garrus asked. He didn't think so either, but it galled him to know his opinion was the prevailing one.

"No, I don't." Shepard shook her head, but didn't elaborate. In fact, she remained darkly silent, as though looking into a bleak future, for the trip to the Citadel Chambers.

Tavia: The Council

To Tavia's relief, the Council session was not held in the massive atrium where major judgments were rendered and issues addressed. This was good for her (it meant a limited audience) but bad for the investigation (meaning that whatever rulings were made, they were being made _quietly_ ).

She'd done a little research in a few snatched minutes. Saren was not hard to find, being one of the few 'faces' of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. He no longer enjoyed the more complete anonymity of some of his compatriots, but that simply meant the Council could be perceived as taking something very seriously indeed, if he showed up to an investigation.

It also explained why Vakarian, new to his role, was heading inquiries: Saren was a hero. The Council wouldn't want him discredited if it were at all possible. This formed the basis of her theory that the Council would not devote major resources to bringing him back to the Citadel in chains to answer for his attack.

This was highly embarrassing and they would want to keep it quiet. Politicians didn't differ that much in motivations, regardless of species. And no one wanted to be responsible if someone went off the reservation.

Vakarian however, and Anderson, seemed confident in the case.

Tali, sitting next to Tavia in the back of the Council's 'informal' chamber, leaned over. "Are you alright?"

"Fine. Just nervous." Tavia tried to smile and failed, sinking back into her thoughts. The fear that something would leak, something that would call her mental stability into question chewed at her, gnawed at her, left her feeling nauseous.

She'd already had her life burned out from under her for it once; she wasn't sure she could pick up and start over a second time.

She jumped when Vakarian leaned over, "It's going to be fine."

Tavia swallowed, looked over at him. "No, it's not."

Vakarian looked like he wanted to say something reassuring—he had his cop hat on, she noticed—but the Council entered, cutting short all chances for hushed conversation.

She and Tali remained in the back of the room, waiting to be called upon if necessary. Anderson waited some distance ahead, while Vakarian and Udina stood closest to the Councilors.

Sparatus, Tevos, Valern. Shepard knew their names, but they appeared on the news less than Ambassador Udina. One had to tune into the galactic news, and the only galactic news she cared about was whether or not galactic saber rattling threatened to turn to armed fighting.

She didn't like how Sparatus kept looking past Vakarian—who presented the case—to frown at her. At least, she presumed he was frowning. She wondered if he knew about Udina's ridiculous scheme to get a human Spectre before thinking, resolutely, that she would turn it down in a heartbeat and beat it down until the notion stayed there.

She might have felt differently had she still worn Alliance blue. But she didn't. And she was apparently not noble enough to think 'water under the bridge, duty, duty rah-rah-rah.'

She flinched when the second voice in Tali's recording mentioned Reapers, but she found that the impact of the word—and the inevitable surge of beacon-induced visions—reduced if she applied enough willpower or had some warning. That was good, she thought, a sure sign that she could control any damage done. Maybe it would get better with time. It had better: she had the feeling she would be hearing the word all too frequently at some point.

Vakarian neatly skirted her interface with the beacon, avoided all mention of instability, and merely indicated what it seemed to have impressed upon her mind.

She saw the grim looks on the Tevos and Valern's faces—their features being similar enough to humans to be read. The 'evidence' was 'taken into consideration' but Tavia felt something unknown twisting her stomach. They weren't taking it seriously. No more than they might take into consideration bad dreams.

Garrus: The Council

Garrus listened patiently to Udina, then to Tevos, who called the quarian forward and questioned her thoroughly.

Nervous as she was, the quarian represented herself well, Garrus thought. Tevos seemed to hear the ring of truth in the girl's words, for she put a stop to Sparatus' attempts to shake the quarian up, ruffle her into a verbal misstep.

Then it was Shepard's turn, and her reception was somewhat colder than the quarian's. She was careful in how she spoke, calm, composed, but standing as close to her as he was, he could smell the faint tang of human fear. She made clear what was conjecture, clarified what she interpreted from the mishmash of images, sharp, dull, and apparently blank.

No one was impressed.

Finally, Shepard was released. She marched back to her original position nodded to something Tali said then answered softly.

His attention as immediately recalled by Tevos, "I recognize the voice in the recording, the one talking about Reapers. Matriarch Benezia…"

"Which fits with the asari intermediary," Valern declared, unimpressed.

"You wanted proof," Udina put in with a flourish, "here it is."

"Matriarch Benezia's inclusion with this… petty criminal… in the Wardsis not conclusive," Tevos declared mildly. "Though it is suggestive. What _is_ conclusive is this quarian's evidence. If Benezia has allied with Saren…" Tevos shook her head. "She will make a formidable ally."

"Indeed," Sparatus agreed.

Garrus' insides tightened. Here it was…

"The evidence is irrefutable, Spectre."

It was almost comical to watch Udina deflate. Clearly he felt far more incorporated in the proceedings than he was, having forgotten that he was only present because of Shepard's involvement.

"Saren will be stripped of his Spectere status and all efforts will be made to bring him in to answer for his crimes," Sparatus announced.

If Garrus was Anderson, he wouldn't have been looking so vindicated.

"I would like to speak to the human again," Valern mused.

Garrus prepressed the urge to remind the Councilor of her a name. She wasn't exactly a non-entity in all of this, after all.

"These Reapers. Tell me again about them," he commanded as Shepard returned to her spot by Garrus' shoulder.

Tavia: Not Crazy

They'd let her cool down in hopes of shaking her up, Tavia decided. "I don't know what else I can tell you, apart from my theories. The geth believe the Reapers are gods, sentient machines, the apex of synthetic… existence." She couldn't very well call it 'life' to this audience. "Saren is using this belief. As to the Reapers themselves, the only evidence I can offer is what the beacons left me. Record of a ship, a ship similar to that which your Spectre saw on Eden Prime. From what I understand, the Reapers slaughtered the Protheans, then vanished."

Tavia didn't let it show, but repeated conveyance of information was something she'd lived with for a long time, during and after her stint with the Alliance. The wording might vary but the salient points would not. The familiarity of it soothed her raw nerves a little.

"And this Conduit mentioned?" Councilor Valern prompted.

"I have no knowledge about that, Councilor," Tavia answered, somewhat relieved. She believed in her core that these sentient machines existed, that they'd been the Protheans' downfall. It made sense: records of the Protheans were scant when one regarded the galactic scale. She'd seen the work of scrub teams and could believe that if what she understood about the Reapers were true, they wouldn't want anything left behind to incriminate them. That was just common sense.

Whether Saren believed in them or not, whether he was using them to motivate the geth or whether he meant to follow through with bringing about this 'return' she didn't know. She just knew, in her guts, that the Reapers were real, and a real threat. Theirs was the name of the nameless fear that lurked in that black pit the beacons had burned into her mind.

But she couldn't very well convey most of this without sounding crazy, which would cause complications for her life and Vakarian's investigation.

"All I know is that we should treat this matter as a threat until we have information to the contrary," she concluded.

"Listen to yourself," Sparatus growled, " _Saren_ wants to bring back the machines that wiped out the Protheans? Apparently _all_ organic life in the galaxy?" Tavia didn't need experience with turian expressions to make out his sneer. "Impossible. It has to be."

"The scale of possible versus impossible changes, Councilor, when a species finds out it's no longer alone in the galaxy. An experience I think we can all appreciate," Tavia put in mildly.

"Then where did these Reapers _go_?" Sparatus demanded, reminding Tavia forcefully of one of her grade school principals, a strict, uncompromising man who desired order without regards to justice. He was widely hated, but had the order he demanded… trouble simply went unreported or was handled discreetly. She'd never been in a school that invited such subversive activity. "Why did they vanish? How come we've found no trace of their existence? If they were real, we'd have found _something_!"

A pregnant pause followed, making it clear Tavia was expected to answer the Councilor. "If I were to wipe out a species, and intended to do it again, I would approve of making myself a myth, of erasing myself so no one could see me coming. The element of surprise is an invaluable thing. And the arrogance of assuming one knows everything about everything is… unwise. I refer to my prior point about discovering the existence of other sentient species."

"You might want to ease off on that," Vakarian rumbled.

"Why? It's in a neutral cant. It applies as much to the salarians and the asari as it does to turians and humans," Tavia hissed back. It _was_ a risky cant, but the neutrality would certainly work in her favor.

"Let us stick to the facts, Councilor," Tevos broke in. "Saren has betrayed the Council. He is using the geth to search for something called the Conduit, but we don't understand his motives."

Tavia kept the grimace off her face: the search for motives allowed Saren a way to vindicate himself. To validate his actions.

"These Reapers are obviously a myth, Ms. Shepard. A convenient lie to cover Saren's true purpose. A legend he is using to bend the geth to his will," Councilor Valern declared, as if to someone… disturbed in her mind… despite Tavia's presentation of robust sanity.

"Councilors, we can't ignore the fact that there was a record of something matching the description—" Vakarian began.

"Spectre, the beacon was, by your own admission _damaged_ when you asked Ms. Shepard to… investigate it," Tevos pointed out. "And, without more than her artistic outlet as proof, we cannot take such things into account."

"But are you willing to take the chance, Councilor?" Vakarian asked.

"Saren is a rogue Spectre on the run for his life." Tavia didn't know it, but Vakarian's expression was the turian equivalent of her own: disappointment, grim resignation, irritation. "He no longer has the rights or resources of a Spectre. The Council has stripped him of his position."

She very much doubted that Saren felt anything but confident in his position, Spectre status or not. Who would argue with him if he showed up and 'requested' something?

He could shoot his way through until he found someone in the chain amenable to 'suggestions.'

She clenched her teeth and one fist to keep herself from speaking out of turn.

Garrus: Unsuitable

Garrus could see that his investigation was losing ground. He'd been afraid it would be hard to make anything stick to Saren, but now that they'd marked him as a traitor… the Council seemed all too willing to let him disappear from the radar.

He couldn't let it happen. He _couldn't_. The idea that Saren might get away unscathed, be allowed to roam free… it pissed him off. The fact that Nihlus hadn't come up in conversation at all past the initial mention, hadn't even been considered, turned 'pissed off' to something a step short of being absolutely furious.

Didn't Nihlus deserve justice? He was a Spectre—one of _their_ Spectres!

"You don't get to be a Spectre by being stupid. Resourcefulness, cunning, the ability to adapt, they are all traits that Spectres share, and they don't cease to be when one's official status is revoked," Garrus argued, his voice growing sharp.

"Spectre, you have made your point," Tevos declared, "please stop beating the dead horse."

"He killed Nihlus Kryik—a fellow Spectre—in cold blood!" Garrus snarled.

"Easy," the soft whisper came from Shepard.

He sucked on his tongue, knowing the gentle warning was warranted—for the sake of the investigation—but anger continued to burn in his guts. And he thought C-Sec had known how to stonewall an investigation, keep him from doing his job.

"That's it? Nominal action?" Udina demanded. "You know he's hiding somewhere in the Traverse, send your fleet in!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Sparatus seemed genuinely surprised that Udina could be so… blatant… in his suggestions. "The moving of a fleet usually signals intent to _use_ that fleet. And I, for one, have no desire to start a pointless war with the Terminus Systems."

Garrus agreed. The fleet was too much, especially since there was tension between the Alliance and the Terminus Systems over colonization.

"Aside from which," Valern jumped in, "a fleet cannot track down one man."

But _he_ could, Garrus thought savagely. Give him a ship, a crew, and he'd bring Saren's head back in a bowl.

"A Citadel fleet could secure the entire region. Keep the geth from attacking any more of our colonies!" Udina pushed.

"Shepard," Garrus breathed, so softly her translator almost failed to pick up the sound. "I need what's in your head." The beacon had the record, she was the only source of that record, now. Whatever else he needed, he needed to keep her on hand… partly for her own safety. He didn't want to trust that Saren couldn't operate—or find people to operate for him—even on Earth.

"If you want my help, _ask_ ," Shepard returned, her answer half hidden under Tevos' rejoinder.

Garrus found himself grinning grimly and wiped it hastily off his face. "I want your help. Saren has to be stopped." In addition to the beacon's message… she'd impressed him with her field expertise. A two for one deal, so to speak.

"Agreed. Just… remember I've got a business to manage."

Garrus chuckled. It didn't smack of mercenary leanings, just a polite reminder that she did not have unlimited free time… however much she wanted it. He was sure he could work something out, contract her specifically. He was a Spectre and had a Spectre credit card. That had to be good for _something._

"The ambassador is correct," Tevos said. "There is a way to stop Saren without sending in fleets or armies."

Garrus' guts clenched. Tevos wasn't looking at him but at Shepard, her expression as serenely unreadable. She was too calm about this—Sparatus must have shared the plot with her.

"No, it's too soon," Sparatus sputtered. It was a good imitation of surprise. "Humanity is not ready for the responsibility."

Udina began an outcry at this, but Tevos raised her hand for silence, "We have an unbiased opinion on this matter, and it should be taken into consideration. Spectre Vakarian?"

"Councilor?" Here it was, the moment of truth.

"You've worked with Ms. Shepard for some days, now. What is your opinion with regards to a possible Spectre candidacy?"

Garrus glanced at Shepard's impassive features, at Udina's greedy but nervous expression, Anderson's intent concentration. "I'm sorry, Ambassador, but I don't think she's at all suitable at this point."

Tavia: Relief

Tavia did not let it show on her face, but Vakarian's words—and the quickness with which the Council pounced on them—were balm to her soul. Spectre candidacy would have made her an Alliance pawn again. They'd find a way to get her back into her blue, leash her, and she'd lose herself completely… only to be served up the instant opportunity presented itself.

Her sense of patriotism had taken a hit when she'd been retired, but that did not mean she'd lost it entirely. The rest of the wrangling between Vakarian—who was beginning to exhibit something of a hot-headed nature—the Council and Udina passed in a blur of noise and tone.

Finally though, the meeting adjourned with most parties satisfied with the outcome—the exceptions being Anderson and Udina. Udina for obvious reasons. Anderson because of the lack of support over Saren—and, maybe, a well-intentioned hope that she might have a future more in line with her skillsets, an honor granted to someone he saw as deserving.

Anderson was still a little blind—naïve, even—when it came to politics. And _his_ sense of patriotism was still intact.

Vakarian took Tali and Tavia back to the apartment, promising the drop in on them later for a scheming session.

Before she climbed out of the car, Tavia looked at him. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," Vakarian returned pleasantly, "mission's not over. They could change their minds. I did say 'at this point.'"

Tavia grimaced good-naturedly. "You really know how to spoil a mood. See you when you get back." She shut the door and strode into the apartment.

Tali cocked her head as Tavia looked around, as if seeing the place for the first time.

Tavia simply didn't have words to express her relief. The gnawing fear, the anger, the resentment, all had lifted, leaving only trace residues behind. And, she had to admit, the prospect of getting back in the field, even if only as an attachment to a Spectre's cadre, was a pleasant one.

It was not that she was eager to be shot at, but she was trained for a function and it had been so long—seemed so long—since that function had been properly filled.

"No disappointment over the Spectre thing?" Tali asked as Tavia raided the fridge, careful to make sure the drink was levo-friendly.

"None whatever," Tavia answered, cracking the bottle open and taking a swig. It was a soft drink, ridiculously fruity, but fizzy and caffeine free. "I've got too many issues with my own brass to be a good Spectre." It would be a daily war, her versus them, like trying to wade through hip-deep mud. All she knew was that the danger of becoming their puppet was too great. Before Akuze, she would have done her duty and let them direct her career as the Alliance saw fit. Now, though, they'd given up the right to that blind adherence.

"It's not that I don't want to do right, or that I don't care… it's a matter of conscience," Tavia said quietly. In an all-out war, things would be different. But she would _not_ be the slave of the Alliance's political machinations. She simply would not…

…and she wasn't. Thank goodness for one Garrus Vakarian.

"So what do you like to do in your spare time?" Tavia asked robustly.

Garrus: Fallout

"It would have been a mistake to endorse her and you know it," Garrus said flatly to Anderson. Udina, of course, would have known no such thing. "And the only one with a right to complain would be Shepard herself and funnily enough, she looked like someone who'd just received a stay of execution." He hadn't expected an easy time going to the mats with Anderson—Udina's inclusion was purely for form's sake—and sure enough, the old captain seemed bent on pointing out exactly what the problem was.

Fortunately, Garrus found himself wearing his cop hat at a cant so his Spectre hat would also fit.

He was also beginning to suspect that Anderson was caught between a rock and a hard place and was simply covering his bases. "Her heart wasn't in it," Garrus continued, waving off any argument, "and a Spectre without commitment—full, voluntary commitment—just gets herself killed faster. Besides, I have a plan that will get everyone something they want."

Udina opened his mouth but closed it slowly, eyes narrowing. Anderson ceased to lean on the edge of Udina's desk, his dark face crumpling.

It struck Garrus anew how visually distinct a species humanity was: here were two humans, and with a third in mind, that bore absolutely no resemblance to one another. They weren't like salarians or asari, who could seem undistinguishable from others of their species. Sexually dimorphic and having variations for almost every trait—hair, skin, and eyes being the most obvious—it made each individual stand out as an _individual_ at first glance, even to an untrained eye.

"My hunt for Saren is just getting started. Shepard has something in her head I want to keep close—for operational security reasons as well as any others," Garrus began to pace. It was not his habit, but he found it meant not fixing either (or both) of the humans with the typical fixity of gaze that made non-turians nervous. "She impressed me as a mission coordinator," which was very true, "and her technical skills are impressive." That was a bit of a stretch, since his experience was limited, but he understood buttering egos.

If the look of quiet pride on Anderson's face was any indication, the old captain was thinking something along the lines of 'yep, she's still got it.'

"Now, I could very easily privately contract her through her security firm. But I'm _sure_ the Alliance would like to find a way to keep a finger in this pie." A hungry look of being on the rebound seeped into Udina's tanned, lined face. "And, of course, it wouldn't be the first time a candidate was reconsidered after… meritorious service. Shepard might even change her mind about her own aptitude for the job." He doubted it. The first of a species to obtain an honor was always a political pawn. A symbol.

"I've got an idea," Anderson declared, finally. "It means going to the mat with Hackett… but I think I can talk him into it."

"What is it?" Udina demanded, unwilling to be left in the dark.

"The Alliance can contract Shepard through her firm," Anderson said, as though reading a script, or to someone who had missed something very obvious.

"That is a _marvelous_ idea, Captain," Garrus answered in the same reading-from-a-script tone Anderson had used. It was a good start, Garrus thought, since restoring her to active duty would just piss her off and impair her performance. He wasn't sure how the human military worked; with turians, a 'medical retirement' was only during peacetime and someone in Shepard's position—one of the most competent special operators they had—would be put back on active duty first.

Garrus quickly got lost in Anderson's explanation (and he thought Udina did too). However, as Anderson elaborated, the old captain seemed to become enamored of the idea—though he seemed aware that he was falling under the spell of grand ideas, for he checked several times that Garrus was well aware that Shepard should _not_ be considered a field operative.

For the most part Garrus agreed, but things sometimes changed and situations sometimes called for flexibility. "I'll leave you to work the details with your commanding officers. If it falls through…" he waved to suggest 'it's the Alliance's loss.'


	9. Chapter 9

Tavia: Home

Tavia was glad to be home, if only for a little while. Vakarian hadn't been specific, but he'd suggested that she would be hearing from the Alliance soon, and he strongly suggested she listen to what they had to say. It made her inclusion on his mission more politic, but it would also _support_ said mission to have some kind of uplink to the Alliance.

She couldn't argue with that and found that, as long as they could sleep in the bed they'd made, she could work with them without conflict. She hoped Anderson's conscience was, for once, on the same page as hers.

"Come on in," Tavia declared, pushing the door open and waving Tali to go ahead of her.

Vakarian had decided, unilaterally, (which was his prerogative) to keep Tali nearby, too. Tavia suspected the turian of possessing a soft spot a mile wide, which he desperately tried to hide. Spectres couldn't be _soft_ and _that_ , she thought, explained why he sometimes came across as a cop and sometimes as… she didn't even know what.

He needed to watch fewer Spectre vids and rely a little more on what he already knew.

The Alliance was hosting Vakarian, as a Spectre it was politic of them to do so, but Tavia knew how these things worked and prevailed upon him to let her take Tali. Tali was 'no one' by comparison, an alien, dextro, and a quarian—Tavia had begun to see how quarians were viewed and was… unimpressed… by the ones doing the viewing.

Aside from which, being surrounded by Alliance personnel when you were the odd man out could be demoralizing… though this being more because of a lack of common ground than true intent to alienate.

"Thank you for letting me stay with you," Tali said.

"Don't worry about it. You'd hate bunking with the Alliance. Here, this is your room," Shepard opened the door to the guest room. When she first took up residence here, she'd intended to save it for visits from one or both of her parents; she had never expected how far apart they'd drifted after Akuze. It wasn't their fault. It wasn't her fault. It just… was. They didn't know about the beacon, just the massacre…

…which reminded her that Vakarian owed her some answers…

If he had been Alliance, she'd have been on her omnitool _that moment_ asking him (or rather demanding of him) where her documents were. However, and she thought it said something about his character, she had no difficulty in giving him a little more time to cough up.

Tavia left Tali to her own devices after assuring the girl that she, Tavia, was freely accessible. Tavia couldn't see Tali as being older than twenty and doubted she was, so the word 'girl' persisted in her mental dialogues.

Being back on Earth brought with it business concerns. Jenga was glad she was back… but seemed to know that being 'back' was temporary, although Tavia was careful not to mention anything concretely. With a houseguest to see to, Tavia had to turn down drinks at one of the local clubs—she didn't think dragging Tali out, where she would be an object of much curiosity, would be wise or kind. It was also awkward to end up on a social outing with people you didn't know and probably would never see again. Tali didn't need that kind of stress.

She checked in with her cats' pet resort, paid the bill, and extended their stay by a week. She honestly had no idea how often she would have to do this, and wished she didn't have to. They hated the pet resort and would make it abundantly clear once they had an opportunity to take their revenge on her.

She left a brief birthday message for her mother, Captain Shepard on the _Orizaba_.

Then a call to Russ, her beau. She had to explain away her absence, and was made to understand that he'd missed her _very_ much indeed… and for some reason that bothered her, though she could not identify _why_. She'd disappointed him when she turned him down for dinner, citing that she had a houseguest and it wouldn't be appropriate. The call left her feeling distinctly ruffled and oddly impatient with the man. That she couldn't identify why she should feel as she did worried her.

Maybe it was residual from having felt like she was doing the job she was trained for. N7s tended not to have too many attachments or close people who worried about them. Friends? Absolutely… but often friends as likely to get killed as they were. It was a morbid thought and she forced it away as quickly as she could.

Her message terminal, still blinking, pinged to indicate new contents:

 _From: Vakarian_

 _Subject: Nightstand Reading_

The encryption on it was heavy, telling her plainly that Vakarian had just lived up to his promise of answers. Tavia bit her lip as she transferred the attachment to an empty datapad—which she encrypted herself and planned to keep in the gun vault when she wasn't reading it.

Her terminal pinged again.

 _From: Capt. Anderson_

 _Subject: Don't Make Plans_

That sounded ominous. The message was simply a vaguely worded heads-up not to embroil herself in anything she couldn't drop. She knew what he was saying: she was going with the Spectre. The Alliance wanted in on it. Having her serving as part of his cadre was the next best thing to having a Spectre of their own. She found his ending statement 'it'll be all right, trust me' even more ominous.

Nevertheless, she sent him a very short 'thanks for the heads-up' message. It took effort not to insist he explain _exactly_ what he meant by 'it'll be alright, trust me.' He would understand the nerves that prompted the demand.

If she was going to be gone for any real length of time, she should probably ask Sherry to check up on the house every few days…

"You have a lovely home," Tali noted hesitantly.

Tavia jumped, not having heard the girl slip in. Recovering herself, she smiled as she turned, "Thanks."

"It's so roomy. Things on the Flotilla…" she paused, trailing off as if uncertain whether her statement would be appropriate or of interest.

"Tell me about the Flotilla. Can I get you some water…?" Earth did _not_ widely cater to dextro-based life forms, since the only two were quarians and turians.

Earth wasn't ready to officially welcome turian visitors _en masse_. Things like that remained the province of the Alliance military. Palaven was probably a mirror image. Neither species was quite ready to invite 'those people' into their houses.

"I'd like that," Tali declared, following Tavia into the kitchen and sliding onto one of the stools at the island and half-swiveling on it in the fashion of a nervous person. "The Flotilla is always crowded, there's only so much space when you live on a ship."

Tavia watched Tali produce a straw, which she fitted into her helmet. It probably had all sorts of filters, for the quarian immediately began sipping down her drink.

Tali was, as Tavia had discovered previously, loquacious, more than willing to talk about her home… and she did so in a way that made Tavia quite sure the girl was homesick. The galaxy had proved bigger and uglier than she'd expected, which made the Flotilla seem so much better by comparison. Familiar. Safe.

As Tali's narrations wound down, ending with the girl drooping over her water glass, Tavia picked up the conversation. She'd grown up aboard ships too, and spent a lot of time on a lot of them—her parents, Hugh and Hannah, never had the same posting but they always shared a home port. And she had pinged back and forth between them like a shuttlecock in a game of badminton—not, she thought, that the description meant much to Tali. But it was something they had in common, which led to Tali asking about life in a human fleet, and both of them comparing notes and experiences.

The conversation continued until a ring at the doorbell halted it abruptly.

Tavia tensed, then motioned Tali to stay put. Silently, she padded over to the door, looking out of the peephole first. A little private, barely out of high school, stood outside the door looking nervous. Tavia opened it and the girl jumped. "Yes?"

"Ma'am. I was dispatched by Capt. Anderson—he said this is for your guest." She held up a large re-usable grocery bag in lurid pink and orange. Tavia had to snicker: Anderson was tough enough for pink and orange, and the fact that 'lurid' was the best way to describe it told her very little had changed. To everyone else it was a color combination no one else wanted and which would be doomed to sit on a shelf forever… except that Anderson probably saw a good deal and bought the lot. For Anderson it was just a bag to put things in (again and again) regardless of color or motif.

Tavia took it, peering in and chuckled softly. It had been a long time since she could look back at one of Anderson's ticks and feel genuine amusement, or something approaching fond indulgence of the older soldier's eccentricities. Because only an eccentric would want to look at the bag let alone possess one.

On a more practical note, trust Anderson to keep on top of dietary needs and make the necessary requisitions (or the necessary purchases, the Alliance could reimburse later). "Give him my thanks and my compliments," Tavia answered.

"Yes ma'am."

"Tell him I said I still think he's colorblind."

The private's expression widened as if Tavia had just asked her to go up to a sleeping dragon and sock it in the nose, unarmed and unarmored. "Never mind. I'll ping him and let him know."

The relief as the private retreated was sad. Anderson wasn't that big a monster; he just had a big monster of a reputation.

"Hey Tali! Anderson sent you a present."

Tavia: New Job

Tavia's head ached as if with a hangover. In fact it _pounded_ so badly that all she really wanted to do was curl up in her room with her cats and try to sleep it off.

What she _had_ to do was finish dressing, stop by her office to pick up a few things, and then report to begin her new contract. Anderson had, it turned out, been in her corner after all: she was still a civilian and a smart-mouthed one, which meant he'd found her resumption of their old argument—that his perceptions had narrowed to being able to handle one color—Alliance blue—and forgetting how all the others worked or didn't work—was a good thing. In fact, he'd added that she had no room to talk, the woman who could hack anything she looked at but who would starve if the chow hall ever burned down.

She found herself grinning at the message. It had been almost true once upon a time, but she felt no reason to spoil a good running joke.

But to business: it seemed her day wasn't to be ruined. The Alliance had, rather than try to force her cooperation, eased back and tried a new approach: a mutually beneficial one. She wondered how long and how hard Anderson had lobbied with the brass… then wondered if she wasn't giving the brass enough credit. Still… it was almost unheard of for someone like her to set foot on the Normandy. She was that kind of person (civilian) and it was that kind of ship (prototype).

That said something to her.

The Alliance, in the form of Capt. Anderson (on behalf of Adm. Hackett) had contracted her company—specifically her—on fair and equitable terms for an unknown duration. Jenga had, when the paperwork came through, been over the moon—not because of the number of zeroes, but because of the position itself. It was too vague in places, the second-in-command had cooed, to be _just_ another assignment.

And to her disappointment, Tavia let nothing slip.

She had been contracted specifically to serve as the SES—senior executive service—on the _Normandy_. It was a diplomatic way of keeping the Normandy in human hands while allowing it to continue service as a Spectre vessel (the Alliance was nothing if not politic, she thought, less sourly than usual). Her military background made her the ideal civilian to 'run things' while the label 'civilian' kept _her_ happy and invested.

In point of truth, while she would have full command of the ship, the executive officer would have most of the grunt work—in many cases, the SES was not necessarily of a military background and needed such support. If an SES in that situation was smart, he (or she) would let the XO run things and serve as a figurehead or the face of the ship. In her case, her role was that of a liaison between the Spectre and the Alliance.

To her regret, Anderson was not going. She suspected the grudge against Saren she'd watched expose itself had something to do with that decision. Or maybe the Alliance felt it better to let their 'expert' deal with the Spectre in her own way on her own terms—the brass had to know that she and Vakarian were amiable and entertained a mutual respect… of sorts.

The whole arrangement made her head hurt, but her conscience persisted in reminding her: _you didn't want to be reactivated._ It was true, and the headache had to be nothing a few OTC painkillers couldn't handle.

Garrus: My Ass Rides in Navy Equipment

Garrus had two leads to follow by the time Shepard took possession of the CO's quarters—not enough to go chasing, but he expected confirmation on the one at any time. Somewhat to his own amusement, he'd been bunking in the cargo bay with the help of a standard-issue turian tent and an equally standard issue turian cot. Human furniture was _not_ meant to accompany fringes, spurs, cowls or talons. It wasn't the first thing he thought of when he thought of field equipment… but whatever worked.

The Alliance had taken his advice into consideration, contracting Shepard through her company (as opposed to strong-arming her into the mission). She arrived on her first duty day with the quarian in tow (he'd forgotten about her, but the girl looked in good spirits), and a big haul of tech which she'd had put in the briefing room.

Tavia had also cut her hair, he realized. On the Citadel she'd worn it tied back in a simple knot, the locks framing her face in a distinctly feminine fashion (or so he assumed, since none of his male C-Sec cohorts ever wore their like that). Now she wore it short, which seemed to change the angles of her face, sharpening them and bringing out the sculpted lines. The change, which was drastic in his opinion, made her seem more of a soldier and less a civilian. He couldn't say why.

"Spectre Vakarian. We're ready to leave when you are," she declared once she'd stowed her crate of tech—and the quarian—to her satisfaction.

"Excellent—"

"To that effect, I'd like to do a dry run with the ground team if at all possible," she continued almost without waiting for him to finish his word. Brisk and efficient, he hoped she'd regain some of that personable attitude she'd maintained on the Citadel.

Her point, though, he hadn't expected. He opened his mouth to say he didn't need them, but Tavia interrupted again—which began to be annoying. More that she seemed to know what he was going to say than because he couldn't actually get the words out.

"We're chasing a ridiculously dangerous rogue Spectre. Overkill begins with nuclear explosions. We have the people here, we might as well use them."

She had a point and this time she let him speak uninterrupted. "Of course. So… how do I address you now?"

"Commander is fine. Shepard is fine," she answered blandly.

"All right." He wasn't sure how this civilian playing military worked, but she seemed comfortable with it. "Take us to the Citadel. A few minor things to do before we officially head out."

"Very well." She turned crisply, marched up to the galaxy map. She wasn't limping badly today, although she had her cane in one hand (but held it more like a baton than a walking implement). With a few gestures, she sent the course plot the helm. She stood for a moment, looking over the map, her expression blank. Then she stepped down.

"Spectre." Without another word, she strode off to the helm, her voice appearing a moment later over the all-call.

Tavia: Crew

Tavia had hopes for this crew—the exact same crew who'd manned the _Normandy_ when it brought her to the Citadel for the first time. This time however, she made it a point to meet them all, find out who they were, what their specialties were.

She saved the ground team until last and was grossly disappointed.

She hastily rephrased the thought: she was disappointed that there were only two of them on the team. One Kaidan Alenko and one Ashley Williams. No more. No less. And on a ship this size it was pathetic and the Alliance must have sneezed when handling the roster to commit such an oversight as allowing the skeleton of a skeleton ground team to remain unaltered.

Kaidan was a biotic, quiet, confident, keeping his opinions to himself unless expressly asked.

Ashley, on the other hand, maintained a sense of shoulder-set confidence, with a bit of a chip on her shoulder and without doubt antsy about the turian.

Oddly enough she found that, as far as first impressions went, she liked Ashley, for all her prickles. Maybe it was because Ashley reminded her of her pre-Akuze self. Ashley was eager, wanted to serve, to prove herself… but without seeming reckless about it.

Kaidan… left only a vague impression, nothing that really stuck with her. She didn't question his dedication or his abilities; he merely came across as being a bit bland. He also reminded her, very vaguely, of Russ: a nice guy. No more. No less.

The thought of Russ made her want to curl her lip. His disappointment that she hadn't been in town for more than a few days had chafed at her for no reason she could articulate. Was it ridiculous to feel that he missed her a little too much? After all, she'd done more field work in the last few weeks than she had in the last few months. In the last year, even. It wasn't something he'd known to expect… but seriously. It was anomalous at best; anomalous things happened sometimes. Hence 'anomalous.'

She'd buy him a souvenir on the Citadel. It wouldn't fix anything that was at issue, but it would show she was thinking of him. He'd never been off-world; the novelty would count for something.

Or maybe it was a residue of her own memories: her parents had always sent her souvenirs when they visited a new place without her in tow (if she was in tow, she wouldn't have needed a souvenir: she would have had the experience).

She shook herself. This wasn't the time or place to worry about Russ or her personal life.

The ship had a distinctly dull aura—she attributed this to the loss of Capt. Anderson. He, however, seemed to have braced the crew and done enough groundwork that there was very little bad feeling directed at her for having 'usurped' him.

The same could not be said of Vakarian, whom no one trusted and more than a few disliked. This was partly his own fault: he'd played spook with them before and was playing spook again, now. She was beginning to recognize this as a 'when in doubt' behavior and one he'd better shed soon.

Not just for his own sake, but for the sake of people who had to deal with him on and off the ship.

Garrus: Damaged Dynamic

Garrus could _feel_ it, that something had changed. It made working with Shepard feel like he was struggling against an implacable current. He couldn't even say why. For her nine-hour working day she was brisk, businesslike, every inch someone the crew could forget was a civilian. They _remembered_ the N7 designation she'd held, they _remembered_ Akuze… they _forgot_ Bulldog Security. She was never Ms. Shepard, even off duty; she was always 'Commander.'

Maybe it was because the crew seemed to put her between themselves and him, as if he was plotting to get them all killed and she was the best shield at hand.

That was just stupid, he huffed irritably. It sounded so stupid to complain that, in short, 'no one liked him.' Spectres were not part of a popularity contest. Frankly, he'd never been given to worrying overmuch whether or not he was well-liked. With C-Sec…

…but he wasn't C-Sec anymore. He was now operating off the Citadel, away from his contacts… maybe _that_ was what he missed. The familiarity.

And being able to get decent dextro food.

His omnitool beeped, signaling an incoming call. "Shepard."

" _Vakarian. This is a business call._ "

She must be taking time on the Citadel during her off-duty hours. He'd taken her advice in allowing the crew time to explore. Apparently they'd been restricted to the ship last time they were here, and most of them had never set foot on the Citadel.

"What is it? No one's shooting are you, are they?" he asked it hesitantly, and was rewarded with an affable chuckle.

" _No, not yet. In fact, I have someone volunteering to shoot_ _for_ _us. I'm holding agreement in limbo until you green light it._ "

"Really? You're going to contract outside help?"

" _Vakarian, I have two soldiers on my ground team plus you, and Anderson told me not to expect anything in the immediate future,_ " Shepard answered patiently. " _Traditional ground teams run six to twelve, depending on the size of the vessel upon which they serve and the overarching mission to which they've been assigned._ "

"Only twelve?"

" _Per unit,_ " Shepard amended.

That made more sense. "I trust your judgment, Shepard. You're coordinating the ground team." It cost him something to give her that much leeway without knowing who was volunteering or why. Must be someone she knew, though.

" _I'm glad to hear it._ " Whether she meant that he recognized her official capacity or because he trusted her judgment remained ambiguous. She disconnected however, leaving him to frown at the requisitions of equipment being loaded and the pile of messages in his inbox.

Shepard's arrival several hours later broke him out of preoccupied study of one particular mission the Council had appended as a 'in case you have time' sort of thing. It sounded like a slowing tactic to him, but perhaps he was being paranoid…

"Just bring the case up here, I'll have it moved to refrigeration," Shepard's voice declared.

"You mean," a low, growling voice declared idly, "you'll have _me_ move it."

"You wanted to be helpful. This is you helping," came the light, almost playful, response.

Garrus looked up to find himself watching the krogan bounty hunter biotically carrying a large crate marked 'keep refrigerated' and looking grumpy. He couldn't be too grumpy, Garrus reasoned, if he was obeying Shepard's directions. Still…

Tavia caught his eye and indicated with a finger. "Vakarian. Wrex. Wrex. Vakarian. Refrigeration is upstairs."

"Shepard, what is _that_?" Garrus demanded. His blind faith in her judgment had just screwed him over, he thought.

"Crate of decent dextro rations," Shepard answered with too much obtuseness to be real. "The Alliance isn't big on remembering that sapients cannot live on nutrient paste alone—and I have two dextros on this ship to take into consideration. Don't look so worried, I consulted with the turian behind the counter, so it's all safe—"

"Yes, I got the rations part, but the _krogan_? Shepard, I said I trusted your judgment—"

By now Wrex looked tempted to throw the crates he was biotically levitating at Garrus' head and call it an accident.

Shepard frowned at him, her pleasant manner beginning to wither. "And my judgment is that he'll be an asset. Don't worry. He and I have an understanding."

"An _understanding_?" Garrus asked, feeling nauseous, his trust abused…

"Yes. In fact, it was fortuitous. It's the perfect mission for the team to try. Low risk compared to what we're supposed to be doing, but enough for a dry run," Shepard rattled off.

Garrus knew she knew why he was bent out of shape, but she persisted in playing innocent. He frowned at her, and she frowned right back at him.

"Vakarian," Shepard forced herself to sound patient. "My job is to make sure your operations succeed. Just like on the Citadel. If you don't trust that I'm going to do my job, then consider this: do you really think I'd do _anything_ that would make me or my company look bad? Because 'Bulldog Security' is all over the paperwork."

Well… he could put faith in _that_. And he _had_ neglected to ask her what, exactly, she was recruiting. Garrus' insides shuddered as he finally identified part of what was bothering him. Insecurity. He hadn't felt like this since Nihlus scooped him out of C-Sec's pool of agents and given him a chance at something that could be _his_ , instead of what his father wanted.

Nihlus' words after the first mission—a warm up, he'd called it—came back to him now. ' _You're trying too hard. Relax._ '

"Of course, Commander. Good thinking." The Council wouldn't like the krogan's involvement and he couldn't help thinking that Tavia's Alliance handlers (whoever they were) wouldn't like it either. But Wrex _had_ proved valuable in combat before… and whatever improved relations were there, she would probably enjoy giving the Alliance fits. "In case anyone asks, why are you so sure you can trust him?"

Shepard did not take offense to the question. "Because my firm _never_ hires thugs, no matter _how_ qualified they are." Ah. "He volunteered to come, but he's being contracted by my company." And she would, no doubt, find a way to get the Alliance to reimburse her for that. "We're a reputable business and I bring that mentality to this posting." Then, before she headed for the elevator, "I think you and Williams should get to know one another. It'd be good for both of you."

Garrus watched her go, exhaled deeply once she was gone.

Like working through hip-deep mud. He was beginning to regret this…

Tavia: Dry Run

"Alright," Tavia clapped her hands together, looking from her ground team—Wrex, Kaidan and Ashley—to Vakarian. She was not adept at 'reading' turians, but it seemed to her that Vakarian was ridiculously keyed up.

She knew that turians all did a mandatory stint of active duty. However, Vakarian had been a cop for… how long? Longer than he'd been active duty. Maybe _that_ was where his problem was: he was out of practice going into combat. Cops got shot at, but they didn't exactly storm pirate strongholds like this one. Being reasonably calm and collected prior to such an assault was something one learned.

It probably wasn't helping that Wrex kept leering at him as if to say 'I'm going to shoot you the instant you turn around, you turian bastard.' Tavia knew better than to believe this. She'd been blunt with Wrex. She ran the ship, coordinated the operations, but Vakarian was the one picking direction and objectives. So, at the end of the day, the turian was in charge.

Wrex had accepted this. His price tag—which they'd haggled (and not very strenuously) over—included the cost of patience with and tolerance for the command structure.

She'd modified the truth a little when she told Vakarian Wrex had volunteered. True, he'd approached her, but his terms were different enough from the standard bounty hunter terms that 'volunteered' seemed a little more accurate. Room, board, a fee lower than she would expect for someone of his credentials (which he'd been happy to relate for her over drinks) and this little mission. She had the feeling this little mission was more important than anything else they'd arranged.

Apparently the head pirate—a turian, of course—had some heirloom of Wrex's family and Wrex wanted it back. It was important enough to promise to point his shotgun in any direction she wanted until she declared the mission over… or he got bored. She was still figuring out whether he was joking about that.

She suspected there was more to these favorable terms, but sometimes it was better to approach things obliquely.

Her two humans both looked uncomfortable, but held their ground—Kaidan more than Ashley. His attention was fixed, reminding her of a trained security dog waiting for the command that would set it into motion. Ashley kept shifting from foot to foot, disliking the alien posturing going on.

"Objective is simple: clear the base. These pirates are dug in, fortified, but not expecting us. Alenko, are you cleared for Mako drops?" Tavia asked briskly.

"Yes, ma'am," Kaidan answered promptly.

"Good, you'll handle that, then. Williams, the gun?" Ashley nodded. That meant Wrex and Vakarian cramming in front with Kaidan. It would be a tight fit, uncomfortable too, but pandering to Wrex's and Vakarian's natural dislike of one another was not the way to advance the mission.

Time for both to just suck it up and go.

"Vakarian is the groundside lead," Tavia continued. "But I'll be coordinating your efforts via this," she pulled a small drone out of a padded case. "Turn it on once you get into the field. I'll control it from here." She felt her expression pull. It felt awkward to her, sending the team into the fray without going herself.

Her instructions from the Alliance were explicit: _stay out of combat situations unless_ absolutely _necessary._

"The bunker is of a basic prefab design—you see them a lot in the Terminus," she continued. "It's two stories, the ground floor being the larger space with the second story overlooking."

"What kind of cargo are we expecting?" Kaidan asked.

"I'm afraid we have no information on that. The leader poses as something of an art collector, but that's just moonlighting," Tavia answered. "If we find live freight Alenko, secure them as best you can. Williams, you're his cover." That was standard Alliance policy. "That leaves Wrex and Vakarian to clear the rest of any resistance you might meet."

"Numbers?" Kaidan asked.

"I'll have an estimate once my drone is airborne," Tavia answered, "and you'll have that estimate as soon as I do. Now, one more thing." She reached into her crate after passing the softball-sized drone core to Kaidan. From the crate she produced several small cameras, designed to be mounted to armor. She slapped one onto the side of Ashley's helmet, then repeated the task for Wrex and Kaidan. The magnetic fields engaged, engaging the low-profile observation tools securely.

"You're putting _cameras_ on us?" Vakarian frowned, his mandibles quivering near his jaw.

"Yes. Sometimes I need a specific point of view. Don't worry, it won't interfere with you." She nonchalantly slapped a camera to his helmet. "I can't coordinate if I can't see, and if my little drone gets shot down I'll need another pair of eyes. Don't worry," she added, "I've done this before."

Vakarian didn't look convinced, but her Alliance team took the declaration stoically.

"I'm going to set up in the briefing room. Load into the Mako, we'll do radio and visual checks in five," Tavia declared before exchanging salutes with Kaidan and Ashley.

Tali was waiting for her in the briefing room. "I'm glad you're letting me help," she declared.

"Glad to do it." Tavia responded.

Tali was 'helping' by monitoring the team's hardsuit readings—if anyone got hurt or if some fluke occurred, Tali would be the first to know. It reduced the amount of data Tavia had to pore over; the likelihood that she would miss something combat related went down if she was not watching for injuries or major alterations in function on top of everything else.

"I'm getting readings," Tali announced. "Elevated heartrates—except for the krogan."

"Wrex."

"Wrex," Tali corrected herself. "Is Vakarian supposed to be that hot?"

Tavia glanced over her shoulder at the haptic interface. "No. That's just nerves. Turians don't sweat." They had two adaptations to deal with excess heat: a complex exothermic reaction under moderately hot conditions, and via the respiratory tract (like birds) when temperatures grew truly unbearable. ICT covered those adaptations in both xenobiology and xenomedicine. On a world like Palaven, where the average temperature was about thirty-one degrees Celsius, the adaptations were very necessary.

Tavia activated the team's video feeds one at a time, each appearing on a separate haptic display with an empty window directly in front of her for her drone's feed. "Vakarian, you read?" she asked.

" _Read._ "

"Alenko?"

" _Affirmative._ "

"Williams?"

" _Loud and clear._ "

"Wrex?"

" _Hmph._ "

"No need to pine, Wrex," Tavia chuckled. She slipped on the gloves that contained the drone's control mechanisms and took a deep breath. "The separation's only temporary."

" _What can I say?_ " he responded with a chuckle of his own. " _It's crowded in here. Crowded with an_ ugly _crowd._ "

" _Because you'd be an expert on that,_ "Ashley put in frankly.

Wrex's chuckle indicated he approved of her answer… and Tavia thought the approval might have caught Ashley off-guard.

" _We're making our approach, Commander,_ " Joker announced over the main intercom. " _T minus five minutes._ "

"Good. Alenko, prepare for drop." Tavia took a deep breath, stilled her inner nerves. She hadn't coordinated with military hardware or personnel in a long time.

" _Ready, Commander._ " Over the radio, the Mako rumbled gently.

Garrus: Maverick

Garrus didn't like the feel of the mission.

"Deploying drone," Alenko announced softly as he produced the drone core and turned it on.

The drone lifted out of his hand, rotated once in place.

" _Thank you._ _Let me have a quick look around. Wait for instructions._ "The drone bobbed off, low to the ground, then vanished from sight. Shepard was silent for a few minutes. " _I was right: basic layout. Upper story is about half that of the lower story—lower story is all cargo, good cover. I don't see any live freight._ "

"Thank goodness for that," Ashley murmured.

" _I_ _do_ _see about eight men on the ground two on the balcony. Maybe more in the antechambers. No sign of the primary target._ "

"He'll bunker down like the coward he is," Wrex put in darkly.

" _Williams, Wrex, you'll head in first, shake them up. Alenko, flank right. Vakarian, I'll move you manually. On your signal, Spectre._ "

Everyone turned to look at Garrus.

Move him _manually_? What the hell?

"Go," he nodded.

Kaidan palmed the door open, Wrex charging into the room with Ashley hot on his heels.

Kaidan dodged to the right, into a sort of corridor near the wall that allowed him to move almost unseen.

" _Vakarian, cut left through the gap in those crates._ "

He cut left, disliking the blind maneuvering, the blind trust. This wasn't one crime boss penned up in his office… "I see a spot."

" _Negative, Vakarian, keep going left—_ "Shepard responded.

It was too perfect a spot to pass up, a clear shot at the backs of the pirates converging on Wrex and Ashley.

He climbed into the crates, took a knee, and took aim.

" _Vakarian—_ "

"Lead on the ground, Shepard."

He thought he heard her teeth clench.

" _Alenko. I need to move you._ " Shepard's tone took on an edge.

"Negative, leave him alone, Shepard."

" _Dammit, Vakarian,_ " she snarled, abruptly severing her link into his radio.

"Shepard?"

Silence.

Dammit.

His irritation quickly became nervousness. Shepard's silence and the changes in the sounds and direction of the battle that occurred without her prompting began to wear on his nerves. The blindness that came with the disconnect from information quickly became more problematic than blindly trusting the voice in his ear.

" _Vakarian! Move your ass! Full forward!_ " Tavia barked so abruptly that he jumped. " _Move move move!_ "

He moved just in time, vaulting over his cover to find a fresh spot. No sooner had he cleared the crates than Kaidan stepped around another stack of them, raised a hand, lifted the crates upon which Garrus had knelt and threw them across the room.

Ashley shouldered her rifle as the crates landed, sending a volley of bullets into them.

The crates immediately exploded, incinerating anything within range—from the sounds of the screams, a force moving from the upper story to reinforce the men on the ground floor.

" _Alenko, Wrex. Head upstairs, take care of the leftovers. Williams, how bad are you hurt?_ "

"Not bad," Ashley answered. "Just superficial scuffs."

" _Vakarian. Find a place and take a knee._ "

Garrus bristled at this, but heard Tavia shut him out of the conversation again. "Dammit, Shepard…" he growled, finding another place from which to cover Ashley… and checking to make sure the crates he knelt upon were innocuous.

His stomach went cold at the thought of what might have happened if any of the mercs had managed to shoot the crates while he was on them…


	10. Chapter 10

Tavia: Serious Talk

The only person happy at the end of the mission was Wrex, who'd recovered his artifact—a suit of ancient armor which he lovingly stored in his gear locker.

Kaidan and Ashley looked disgruntled, as if they knew something had gone wrong on the mission but not what. Everyone had come back alive, but nothing savored of _mission successful_.

Tavia stepped into to cargo hold, her expression a mask of repressed anger. She was holding it in as best she could, but the sight of the mulish turian threatened to strip her calm façade right off. The asshole. She thought he had better sense than to act unilaterally while on a mission! "Spectre, I'd like a word, if I may."

"Later, Commander…" Vakarian responded, clearly unwilling to just let her run roughshod—

"I wasn't really asking," she declared softly. "Briefing room, please." Loud anger was not usually her style. Cold anger, however, was _exactly_ her style.

It ended in a staring contest… which she won. "Thank you," she declared the instant he began to move.

By the time they reached the Tali-free briefing room, both of them were ready to explode. "What the hell?" Tavia barked the instant the door was closed, turning to face Vakarian.

"I could ask you the same thing!" he snapped back.

"You were sitting on a pile of exploding crates because you wouldn't listen!" Tavia returned in a lower tone than usual. "You could have got your face and ass blown off!"

Vakarian's expression twitched, probably with embarrassment.

"I expected needing to learn to balance our efforts, but damn if I expected a pissing contest in a live-fire situation!" she snarled. "What the hell is your problem?" It was true that while they worked well on the Citadel, almost everything about the equation had changed. In her mind Vakarian had been too reasonable to let a little thing like that bother him; shaking out the wrinkles was all she expected.

…so much for expectation.

"And again, I could ask you the same thing." Vakarian returned, but he sounded more defensive than he had the first time he spoke.

"Okay, fine. My problem is you're playing spook rather than doing your damn job!" Tavia snarled. "You're green, I get it. You're out of your depth, I get that too. But do _not_ ask me to coordinate a mission if you have no intention of even _considering_ what I'm telling you! That's just _stupid._ "

"And what _were_ you trying to tell me?" But he was losing bluster in the wake of her apparently accurate assessment of his actual problem.

"Not to stand on the damn exploding crates! I had a high spot that would have given you full room coverage all picked out and you _wouldn't even consider_ that I might know what I was doing!"

Silence.

Tavia took a deep breath, trying to quell the anger, the shaky hands… the urge to throttle him. She took another breath before she spoke, forcing her words to sound calmer than she felt. "I _am_ trying to help you. Why won't you let me?"

This time it was apparent she was going to wait for an answer. As she waited, she continued reining in her temper. She understood being out of one's depth, but Vakarian was taking it to a whole new level.

"Do you want me to say I was wrong?" Vakarian asked darkly.

"No," and this time her voice was gentler. "Right, wrong, or indifferent, we have a bigger problem. And that problem is not going to go away by forcing admissions." She threw herself into the nearest seat. After a long silence, during which Vakarian dropped into a chair of his own and, after a few more minutes, put his head in his hands, Tavia spoke again. "Vakarian, you have _got_ to stop _playing_ spook. Don't worry about people's expectations."

"I _don't_ care about their expectations."

"Then why are you trying so hard? Your cop mentality works just fine… and then you pull out this… this maverick _thing_ I don't even know how to describe…" Tavia looked at him, glad the shouting and snarling had finally passed. Hot anger like Vakarian's took a lot of energy, leaving him in a better state of mind for actually _listening_ once the emotion vented.

Finally he looked up at her.

"It's not their business," she declared, realizing his concern. "This is between us. What's messing with your head?"

Vakarian exhaled. "There was a Spectre killed on Eden Prime. My mentor. A friend. I have to make this work." He waved to indicate the chase for Saren which was hardly well-started.

"I understand losing friends. I've lost quite a few myself," Tavia said gently. After a long silence, "Let's try this a different way. With regards to this mission, what do you need from me?" Put the ball in his court.

"I don't know," Vakarian finally admitted, albeit very quietly.

That was surely a sign of trust, Tavia decided. With that admission, the greater part of her remaining anger died. "Think about it and get back to me. Because damn if I can do this without knowing what you expect." With that, she got to her feet and left the room.

Garrus: Think Hard

Garrus put his head back in his hands as the door slid closed in the wake of Shepard's leaving. He'd said it, the horrible truth. That he didn't know. He'd had faith in his abilities at C-Sec. Now, though… the rules and regulations, the bureaucracy and paperwork that had stifled him so badly were suddenly gone… and he was back in the big galaxy where he didn't have little reminders everywhere tugging at memory and at learned behaviors or old habits.

He forced himself to think objectively. Why had the mission gone badly?

If he was honest, and there was no point lying to himself, it was because he hadn't wanted to listen—the same problem cited to him repeatedly at C-Sec. Except there he'd worked alone. Now he had other people on the ground with him, an eye in the sky responsible for bringing those people back alive, and a ship full of support staff he didn't even know what to do with.

Shepard had been doing a lot of talking but, looking back… had he communicated back to her? He'd answered her, yes… but it wasn't really _communicating_. More like countermanding.

 _I like you better as a cop._

A new concern struck him. Within turian society, promotion without merit was less the fault of the one who moved up and all the fault of the one who moved him. Garrus' mandibles pulled so tightly against his chin that they ached. It was as unbearable as Nihlus' murder going unavenged, that Nihlus be remembered as someone who'd brought in a Spectre who wasn't ready, wasn't capable… he'd been trying so hard to show he _was_ capable.

There was only one thing to do: admit to a shortcoming. He was a cop at heart. He hadn't had time to really learn to be anything else. Cops put pieces together to solve crimes, to bring resolution.

Shepard was a soldier—and even as a security consultant he felt her skills hadn't dulled, just been repurposed. Soldiers breached those walls or took those hills.

He needed to think.

But this chair was killing his back.

Tavia: In Earnest

Tavia sat across from Ashley, dealing a hand of cards for Skyllian Five, her last conversation with Kaidan echoing in her head.

He was an idealist. She was a cynic. It couldn't have gone well. Oh, they were amiable enough, but she doubted they'd ever be good friends. He was a fixer, but not of the same brand as herself. He had faith in the Alliance… not blind faith perhaps, but more than she did.

And he was one of those people who believed that idealism could be lost and found multiple times over the years.

She'd known he meant well, but it hadn't stopped her very cynical retort: _Look, idealism is like virginity. Once it's gone you can't get it back._

She'd apologized later, but she doubted it made much difference. Kaidan was sweet… but also he reminded her of Russ. That vague reminder might be why she was having trouble with him. A vague reminder that was colored, exacerbated even, by the fact that Russ had left two messages in her inbox already.

She was beginning to feel smothered… and she suspected that Russ wasn't going to last too much longer. In which case her working relationship with Kaidan might improve.

Ashley now, Ashley was pragmatic. Frank, pragmatic, and Tavia felt no concern over saying too much or speaking too bluntly around her. They disagreed about aliens, but neither felt the need to push her viewpoint. And, as Ashley said, she'd follow Tavia's lead. If Tavia said 'kiss a turian' Ashley promised to ask 'which cheek?'

At which point they'd both smothered laughter—which had cut off immediately by the arrival of the only candidate for such an order.

Awkward… and garnering stifled hysterics which probably left said turian perplexed or concerned for their sanity.

"Can I steal the Commander for a moment?" Vakarian asked. It wasn't a meek request, but it was polite.

Tavia was so surprised by the way he hedged the request, because it sounded like a real request and not a suggestion, that she blinked owlishly at him before glancing at Ashley.

Ashley looked just as surprised. "Uh, sure. Why not…?"

Tavia got to her feet and followed Vakarian to the end of the row of sleeper pods—most of which were empty, as the day shifts were more numerous than the night shifts. "What's up?"

Vakarian considered, then spoke quietly, "I thought about what we discussed. I'm a cop. I put the pieces together and try to find resolution. You're a soldier. You… take hills and breach fortifications." He waved vaguely. "So I'm going to call the major plays… and you're going to get us there."

Tavia's mouth upturned at one corner. "I can live with that."

"Good." Vakarian nodded, the affirmation as much for himself as for her. "Um… here. Picked it up on the Citadel since we appropriated yours. I forgot I had it with things… happening."

He awkwardly pushed something into her hand. Looking down, Tavia found a sketchbook, not unlike the one full of beacon-visions, and a pack of artist's pencils taped to the cover. "Thanks. That was… thoughtful." Vakarian's mandibles waved in what she thought might be a self-conscious smile. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. It felt weird to wear it short again, but she hadn't been able to get past the notion that if she was commanding an Alliance vessel she ought to put her Alliance hat on… and that hat fit better without a lot of hair in her way. It was stupid.

And would be a bitch when it hit that awkward stage. She'd hoped to only go through that once.

"Tell you what, you call me Tavia, and I'll call you Garrus… and we'll start fresh."

This time she was sure Vakarian smiled. "I'm not used to working with a partner… but I'll get over it." He held out a hand, still self-conscious.

Recognizing a handshake, she slipped her hand into his. She'd expected leathery skin on his palm, but found this was not so: he simply felt callused all over, rough and tough. "We'll get this done."

Vakarian nodded, beginning to shift as the exchange drew out. "We will. I've got a lead, I'm just waiting for confirmation on a few details. I'll let you know something when I know something."

His nervousness began to make Tavia, herself, nervous. Awkward… "Thanks, I'd appreciate that," she announced robustly.

Vakarian nodded again, then turned to go.

"Can I give you a little advice?" Tavia asked, a spur of the moment request, though one from which he could benefit if he'd listen.

"No guarantee I'll _take_ it…" Vakarian responded guardedly, but he gave her his full and undivided attention. "But go ahead."

Tavia chuckled at this, but didn't like the turian fixity of gaze. It made her feel like a small bird being eyed hungrily by a bigger one with better talons. The single-minded attention made her feel like _prey_ … and she didn't like it. "Start eating dinner with the crew. Use people's _names_."

Vakarian's mandibles waved in what she decided was thoughtfulness. "…not what I was expecting."

No, it probably wasn't. "You've got damage control to do. I can only do so much." With that, Tavia slipped past him and returned to find Ashley craning her neck to watch.

"That looked friendly," Ashley announced without preamble.

"Just getting a few things worked out," Tavia responded blandly. It wasn't Ashley's business to know about the lesson—past and current—in people skills. She hoped that, if Vakarian calmed down a bit and dialed back, he would show up better to the crew. _She_ knew his heart was in the right place, but she'd had more close contact with him than anyone else on this ship.

Ashley snorted, as if to say the Spectre had _better_ get his game face on before someone got hurt. Seriously hurt.

When Vakarian passed the table, he paused. "Chief Williams. I understand you were injured today. Nothing too bad, I trust…?"

Tavia approved the open feel of the question. He didn't sound as though he was cringing from a sharp answer, but the option not to answer was certainly there. Also, his discomfort in asking—the discomfort of reaching out of his comfort zone—was audible.

"No, nothing too bad," Ashley responded when Tavia kicked her gently under the table.

"I'm glad to hear it."

Tavia exhaled deeply once she was sure Vakarian wouldn't hear her. It was _definitely_ an effort.

"I sense your hand in all that," Ashley declared dryly.

"I have _no_ idea what you mean. Everyone gets pre-mission jitters," Tavia answered blandly. "Me, you, everyone."

"Uh-huh," Ashley shook her head as if to say 'let the officers have their secrets', reshuffled the cards, and dealt them.

Garrus: Guy Talk

It was not the worst way he could think of to spend his time, working on the behemoth truck. It _was_ his first deployment involving a _wheeled_ vehicle. The sensation of dropping from the cargo bay in order to go into a thruster-controlled landing was…

He shivered, the nerve endings in the transdermal layer of all his plates vibrating.

"You'd never dropped in a Mako before, had you?"

Garrus looked away from the hood catch to find Kaidan standing behind him, head cocked in an oddly turian gesture. His first impulse was to dismiss the notion; his second impulse to try not to alienate the crew… further. Try not to alienate the crew _further_."Not really a turian thing, dropping heavy vehicles out of a moving, airborne vessel."

"No, I guess it would take the crazy ones to come up with something like that. It sounds crazy when you put it like that," came the affable answer, accompanied by a grin. Kaidan walked over, found the catch and released the hood. It hissed open and rose in stately fashion to lock at its apex.

Garrus frowned at the hand still resting on the lip of the hood. Garrus wouldn't say he was fascinated by human and asari hands. It was true they had too many fingers, but asari and human females both had the same kind of hands. Human males however, tended to have larger, thicker fingers, and it had always seemed to him that there should be some kind of corresponding clumsiness on account of them.

Not so, and it always surprised him.

Kaidan followed his gaze held up a hand and twitched his fingerers. Apparently guessing what was so interesting, he leaned on the Mako. "Ask me to tell you about the five-fingered discount some time. Saw Shepard ragging on you." He shook his head with an exhale, "She's a real hardass."

"If she weren't, she wouldn't be much use to me." Even as Garrus said it, he decided it was true. It took a hardass to go toe to toe with a willful turian… even among other turians. "Five-fingered discount, huh?" he asked. It sounded like a harmless subject and he felt sure Kaidan had thrown it out there on purpose, just for something to talk about.

"Shorthand for 'theft,' usually along the lines of _this_ …" Kaidan shrugged, pulling a coin out of his pocket. "Nothing up my sleeves…"

Garrus watched the biotic make the coin disappear, then appear to pull it out of the engine block. Every species had sleight of hand tricks, but Garrus found it far more effective with so many fingers moving around. The flourishes of digits were enough to make him dizzy.

A euphemism for 'theft'? Was it in really good taste for a human to…

Oh. Garrus cocked his head, Kaidan's smirk was a little too knowing: a former galactic cop should appreciate the humor, particularly given the current social climate.

Kaidan shrugged, putting the coin back in his pocket. "Sometimes you just gotta laugh."

"That's true," Garrus agreed.

"So," Kaidan leaned on the Mako, peering at the engine block. "Ever worked on one of these?"

"Turians don't have the same love of _falling_ as humans do," Garrus declared. "Solid bit of engineering, though."

"I hate these things. They handle like a drunk elephant and I'm not so thrilled about the falling thing, either."

"Williams seemed to enjoy it," Garrus noted.

"Williams is also crazy," Kaidan put in mildly. It wasn't an insult, but it didn't sound like a compliment, either.

Garrus snorted, remembering the hysterical almost giggles Shepard—Tavia—and Ashley had been indulging in when he arrived to speak with the former. "I couldn't say." His mandibles twitched as he leaned over towards Kaidan. "What do you get when you strand Shepard and Williams together on a desert world?"

"I'll bite: What _do_ you get when you put Shepard and Williams together on a desert world?"

"A 'prickly pear'." It was a joke he'd picked up at C-Sec, although the targets at that time had been a turian/asari team who had a reputation for being strong-armed and sharp-tongued.

"Ouch. True, but ouch…" Kaidan chuckled.

Tavia: Apology

Tavia, sitting in the mess hall late that evening, looked up to find Kaidan wandering out of the corridor of sleeper pods. "Commander," he nodded.

"I owe you an apology, Kaidan. Have some ice cream." She picked up the pint from which she'd scooped her own small bowl and thunked it on the table as if to say 'here you go.' "Problems at home got involved with my work. You were just the poor guy who ended up dealing with it."

"Chocolate chip heals all wounds… unless you're lactose intolerant," Kaidan declared with a sigh and a mournful look at the ice cream. He dropped into the chair opposite her.

"Yeah… it's been one of those days for a lot of people…" Tavia sighed, sucking on her spoon.

"Believe me about the chocolate chips. If not for the lactose thing, I'd happily accept the peace offering." He had a pleasant smile and seemed willing enough to take the apology without making a big production either way. "Dare I ask what the problem was…?"

"I was easing into a new relationship with a really sweet fella," Tavia answered after sucking on her spoon in consideration. "And then suddenly, I'm off-world for a couple weeks and without warning _he_ develops separation anxiety." She thumped the table, in bewildered frustration then stuck her spoon aggressively into her ice cream. "The man's thirty-three years old and has _separation anxiety_? I ask you… no wait, I _do_ ask you. You're a man, dammit. Spell this out for me." She gesture with her loaded spoon before sticking it in her mouth, thoroughly disgruntled.

Kaidan was, by now, stifling chuckles. "That's the great thing about the military: you've always got someone to pose these questions to."

"Oh… let it out," Tavia sighed, a wry smile playing around her mouth as she freed her spoon, examining the gouge it had left. "You'll blow a gasket at this rate."

Kaidan did, shaking his head as he laughed. "If he didn't trust you… it wouldn't have worked out, anyway. Guy sounds a little insecure."

That did make her feel better, and Kaidan had a particularly earnest expression. "Hn." She prodded her ice cream again. "Well, I'm not too cut up about it, so maybe it's best to nip things in the bud."

"Honestly… if it was me, I'd just let you get on with it." He picked up the ice cream carton and frowned at the illustration of vanilla and chocolate on the front. "This used to be my favorite before the drama started." He put the carton down again.

"You are _so_ trusting," Tavia found herself smiling. "I mean that in a good way."

"Actually… you've got the wrong end of the stick on that one." Kaidan declared blandly. "I just believe in being the change you want to see. Believe that that philosophy is more than just something some guy said to keep morale up."

Tavia found herself looking down at the table.

"Ah… I didn't mean it like that…"

"I know. I'd deserve it if you did," she motioned with her spoon, "but I know. This mission's got a lot of people uncomfortable. We'll settle and gel." She didn't say so, but she'd had concerns about the aliens voiced by several people besides Ashley, and several of those concerns were reflected back from Tali. Wrex had already earned silence—if not respect—through his innate sense of intimidation. "Bullets have a way of bringing people together." She stabbed her ice cream moodily.

"You really want to be out there, don't you?" Kaidan asked hesitantly.

"When I was in the Alliance," Tavia said, stirring her melting ice cream, "I was an idealist, too. I wanted to be a change, like you said. And I thought the best way to do that was to always be at the front of things. Even when I was coordinating an operation, my team knew I was on the front lines with them. The worst thing in the world for me was a leader who stayed in the rear with the gear. And look what I'm doing… and where I'm doing it from."

"No offense, Commander, but if they retired you for that knee, I don't want you anywhere near me in the field. And I think Williams would say the same." Tavia looked up, studying the angles of Kaidan's face. His expression remained earnest but resolute. "It's bad enough when people cut corners for an op, but it's almost worse when they use one to prove a point that doesn't need to be proved."

"All right, because _that's_ not personal experience," Tavia retorted dryly. She got up, picked up her ice cream container. "Does everyone spill their guts to you?"

"Apparently I've got that kind of a face," he sighed. "It's a curse, I'm telling you."

Tavia put the ice cream in the freezer, then came back to her chair. "So, who cut corners with you?"

For a moment she thought Kaidan would politely decline to discuss it—it was his prerogative to do so—but then he shrugged. "Guess who else has one of those faces?" he asked as she sat back down. "It started in Singapore…"


	11. Chapter 11

Garrus: Therum

Garrus stood in the briefing room, facing the massive Wrex, the slight Tali, Kaidan—whom he was beginning to like—and the stern-faced Ashley (whom he found… difficult… at best).

Tavia sat in the chair next to his, exuding ease and attentiveness.

"The mission is on a planet called Therum in the Caleston Rift," Garrus declared. "We're attempting to retrieve a researcher at a dig there, Liara T'Soni."

"Why?" Wrex asked.

Garrus drew his mandibles against his jaw before deciding to be up-front about this. If he had bridges to mend, secrets that didn't absolutely need to be secrets were out. "She's Matriarch Benezia's daughter and a person of interest. As you may or may not know, Matriarch Benezia is a supporter of our prime objective, Saren Arterius."

"So she's either in league with them or…" Kaidan waved.

"Exactly. And if it's 'or' I'd like to make sure it _stays_ 'or'," Garrus responded. "Tavia."

Tavia got to her feet as he sat down, and turned on the main display screen. "This is Dr. T'Soni," she announced, the screen filling with the image of a pretty asari with big eyes and freckles. From the looks of it, it was a holo taken from some kind of graduation. "The dig site is for Prothean ruins. That's what Dr. T'Soni studies, the Protheans."

Garrus said nothing, but Lina's advice remained in his mind: get a Prothean expert, preferably an asari. He hadn't mentioned the topic to Tavia, but he couldn't help but think that this suddenly-revealed daughter was… fortuitous.

He also didn't like to think what Tavia would say if he suggested what Lina had suggested. She'd shot at him once because she hadn't liked his attitude. He would like to think their relationship had improved since then… but he had no desire to find himself on the opposite end of her right hook.

"So what if she turns out to be one of Saren's agents, like her mom?" Ashley asked. "Or worse, a sleeper?"

"We'll take the necessary precautions, Chief," Tavia answered simply. "But Councilor Tevos seemed to think that Dr. T'Soni was less of a security risk than her mother and might, since we're dealing with Prothean tech, be useful in unraveling some of the… intricacies… thereof."

So, she hadn't told them about her experiences with the beacons. He'd have to remember that, avoid letting anything slip. As it had been a sensitive subject with her previously, there was no reason it shouldn't remain so.

"Wait," Ashley frowned. "We're running the Council's—"

"This _is_ a Spectre's mission. Chief," Kaidan put in blandly.

Ashley made a face at him, then turned to Tavia.

"As master-at-arms it is your responsibility to think in that direction, Williams. You've shared your view, and I accept it as valid. I have some concerns myself." Tavia declared with calm firmness.

Ashley settled back, not placated, not satisfied, but resigned.

"I understand your concerns about Dr. T'Soni, but I don't think we should write her off just yet. And if she _is_ a liability, I want her where we can see her. I would not object to you keeping a watchful eye on our… guest."

That, at least, seemed to satisfy Ashley.

A prickly pair, Garrus thought blandly. Definitely.

"Aye-aye, Skipper," Ashley announced, possibly for the benefit of the room at large, as Tavia seemed to take it for granted that the matter was settled. "Except for Tali, everyone's going."

Garrus didn't miss the spasm that crossed Tavia's face as she reminded herself that she wasn't part of 'everyone.'

"I'll be in your ears again. There have been revisions to the team dynamic since our last operation, and I'm confident that this will go smoothly from the logistical end."

Nervousness from everyone in the room but Wrex, Tavia, and Garrus himself. "Our objective is to secure the doctor," he took over. "And to do so as safely as possible for all involved. As your humans say: ensure peace by preparing for war."

This made Ashley nod her approval.

"Hope for the best, expect the worst," Kaidan mused. "I like it."

"I don't," Wrex grunted.

"I'm sure you'll have plenty of chances to show off, Wrex. No need to rush into playing the hero," Tavia responded mildly.

"I'm already a hero, Shepard. That's the beauty of redundant organs," Wrex leered.

"I love having my own biotic bullet magnet," Tavia announced lightly, which caused Wrex to laugh, a sound that unsettled Garrus and, if he was at all accurate in judging such things, didn't do much for the others' sense of security.

Tavia alone seemed unaffected. "If you're done briefing them, Garrus, I'd like to send them to get armored and get set up in here."

"Agreed," Garrus nodded.

"Dismissed," Tavia declared.

Garrus waited until everyone but Tali, Tavia, and himself remained. "You're sure you have the krogan—Wrex—under control?" Garrus asked, hastily remembering to use the krogan's—Wrex's— _name_ instead of species. He hadn't realized how common it was to refer to Wrex as 'the krogan' or Tali as 'the quarian', as if they weren't individual sapients. "He's not exactly a stabilizing element… and we don't have enough of those."

"I wouldn't worry about Wrex," Tavia answered. "He'll play ball."

"Your humanisms…" Garrus sighed.

"You should break out the turianisms sometime, see what kind of snarls of communication _those_ cause," Tavia suggested lightly.

"You're in a good mood this afternoon," Garrus noted as Tavia pulled her box of gear out from behind her chair and began the process of setting up her command hub.

"I am. We got a lot squared away in the past few days, and I'm hopeful about this mission. I have a good feeling."

At least one of them did. He watched her hands, noted the absence of nervous tremors. Well, that was reassuring; he'd take what he could get.

" _Commander, we just dropped out of FTL above Therum_ ," Joker announced, " _and we've got a problem_."

"Problem?" Tavia asked, tensing. She exchanged a worried look with Garrus.

They hadn't even landed yet. So much for Tavia's 'good feeling.' He wanted to laugh, even though it wasn't really funny.

" _Yeah. I'm registering a geth ship in low atmo. Lots of geth on the ground. Scans indicate there's some kind of refinery… and the dig site is near that. That's also where the geth are concentrating._ "

"That's bad no matter how you slice it," Tavia mused. "Better make sure the loadout is synthetic friendly."

" _Very_ friendly," Garrus agreed, his innards tensing.

"Here's my eye in the sky." Tavia handed it over. "Be careful out there."

"Just keep us from walking into any ambushes and we'll be fine," Garrus responded, finding the whole conversation odd. It wasn't like the last pre-mission talk they'd had.

"Okay. Let's get this done." With that, Tavia and Tali went back to setting up, Tavia grim-faced, Tali silent but efficient.

Tavia: First Contact

" _I have eyes on the doctor,_ " Garrus declared. " _She doesn't seem to be hurt… but I don't think that's a position she willingly climbed into._ "

"And those geth were _definitely_ not friendly. Let me go down and take a look. If they start shooting, at least you'll know where to return fire." It was strange looking at a three dimensional world through a two-dimensional screen, but Tavia made the best of it, directing her drone to bob lightly down along the numerous catwalks.

Therum had gone smoothly so far. The heat was bad—even Garrus thought so—but the geth were worse. Especially the jumpy ones—though Kaidan and Wrex had quickly become the most adept at dealing with them, being able to do more than just point and shoot. Holding them still solved a lot of problems.

And Wrex was a heavy-hitter when it came to bigger varieties of geth. Tavia hadn't expected so many different forms, but when she thought about it, it shouldn't have surprised her. With the geth form clearly followed function.

Down, down, through the cavern system into which the ruins intruded, the red rock slowly gave way to architecture.

Architecture that, oddly enough, reminded her of public bathrooms: lots of white tile and blue-tinted light to make the space seem bigger (and cleaner) than it was.

Dr. Liara T'Soni was in one of these white-tiled, blue-lit nooks. More specifically, she was behind a barrier and seemed to be imprisoned in some sort of Prothean… thing. The doctor struggled, as if trying to bring the source of all the shooting into view, but without apparent luck. She kept biting her lip and wrinkling up her nose, then struggling again as if doing so could get her loose.

Suddenly, she saw the little drone. " _Hello?_ " she called, her voice shaky. " _Hello? Is anyone-anyone out there? I need assistance!_ "

That much was obvious.

"Shepard to team: I'm bringing the doctor into this conversation. She's on an open channel."

" _Understood. I've got a line of sight on you both,_ " Garrus responded.

" _Same here, Skipper._ " Williams put in. " _Wrex and Alenko are working their way down ahead of us._ "

Tavia cued her drone, felt the mobile holo-capture before which she stood activate. "I'm here," she said, in response to the doctor's question as the drone projected her image.

The asari's eyes grew very wide as Tavia moved her hologram close to the barrier.

"I'm Commander Tavia Shepard, mission coordinator."

" _I-I'm Dr. Liara T'Soni._ "

She looked very young, Tavia thought blandly. It wasn't that her face was young, but something in her mannerisms and the way she spoke suggested youth and inexperience. "All right, Dr. Liara T'Soni. We're here to help you… so how exactly do we do that? I've never seen one of these before." She kept her tone friendly and level, as if she didn't know that this was the daughter of one of Saren's allies.

The way the geth had behaved so far suggested Dr. T'Soni was _not_ part of Saren's big plan… not while alive, anyway. In fact, it looked like she was a liability. Did Benezia know? Or was the Matriarch in the dark on this point?

" _Listen, this thing I am in? It's a Prothean security device. I cannot move, so I-I need you to get me out of here. All right?_ "

"That is the plan," Tavia agreed. "How'd you get in there, if you don't mind my asking?"

The asari's cheeks suffused with purple. She answered promptly, with no hesitation, but it was not the jumped into response of someone who'd learned a part by heart. " _I was exploring the ruins when the geth showed up, so I hid in here_." Then, and Tavia could almost hear a 'squee' of delight, " _Can you believe that?_ _Geth_ _! Beyond the Veil!_ "

"Ye-es, they're beginning to be a bit of a problem."

" _You mean there have been_ _more_ —" the girl began eagerly.

"Why don't we discuss the specifics later?" Tavia suggested, seeing that the aberration in behavior was suddenly far more interesting than the girl's current predicament.

" _Ah, yes…_ " The asari shifted as best she could, which was not much. " _I, ah, activated the tower's defenses. I knew the barrier curtain would keep geth and their handler out._ "

"Handler?" Tavia asked, frowning. "An organic handler? Turian?"

" _It's too much to hope,_ " Garrus rumbled in Tavia's ear.

" _No,_ " the asari responded, surprised, " _a krogan. A particularly_ _uncouth_ _krogan_."

" _Hmph. That's all relative. He's probably just loud,_ " Wrex put in.

"Excuse me a moment, Doctor," Tavia held up a finger. "Come on, Wrex, you're an acquired taste. Why should any other krogan be any different?"

" _You didn't come alone…_ " the asari declared, surprised.

"Is that a problem?"

" _Hardly, I was beginning to wonder how you'd do anything if you didn't have actual_ _hands_." The doctor's laugh was feeble, making Tavia wonder how long she'd been trapped there.

" _Ask her if that barrier thing was supposed to trap her like that,_ " Garrus declared.

"Was that device _supposed_ to snatch you up like that?" Tavia asked obediently.

" _No-o,_ " the asari's whole face turned purple as she rolled her eyes upward, then to one side as she struggled not to look at Tavia's holographic projection. " _I… must have hit something I wasn't supposed to._ "

" _You know, if she's lying, and she's part of Saren's cadre… she's got a_ _really_ _convincing act,_ "Kaidan noted blandly.

" _Hmph. I'm not buying in_ ," Ashley grunted. " _Little too heavy on the damsel in distress thing; she's working it too hard._ "

"I like you as a devil's advocate, Williams, and thank you Alenko, for your input. Let's just get her out and get her onto the ship… she's looking at me like I'm hearing multiple voices." Tavia wouldn't say so, but the crossfire between her team and her need to pay attention to Dr. T'Soni and her predicament was beginning to give her a headache.

She was out of practice, she thought sourly.

" _You are_ ," Garrus rumbled cheekily, the sentiment unknowingly corroborating with her mental aside.

Well, she was on both counts, and Tavia had to repress a smile. "I'll get you for this, Garrus," Tavia muttered under her breath before ignoring Garrus' unrepentant chuckle. It was a versatile sound, she decided, and Ashley would mistrust it immediately, it being equally sinister or reassuring, depending on the conditions. For her part, she rather liked it. "Sorry… the crew I'm with are real cut-ups."

" _I… see_."

Garrus: Bright Idea

By now, Garrus and his team had worked their way down to the cavern floor, without alerting or picking up signs of any geth presence. Or krogan presence, for that matter. He glanced at Wrex; for a split second he wondered if Wrex would have a problem fighting a fellow krogan… then realized that he, himself, had absolutely no problem in running down a fellow turian (which would probably end in said turian's ignominious death for purposes of operational prudence). He mothballed the question as being highly inappropriate.

" _There is a control in here that should deactivate this… thing,_ " the Matriarch's daughter continued, her voice distorted and a little faint since it came through Tavia's open channel. " _You'll have to find some way past the barrier curtain_."

"Tavia, can you shut them down like you did with Fist's security?"

" _Is there a control panel I can use to do that?_ " Tavia relayed to the doctor obediently.

" _Yes, but it's in here. With me. The defenses cannot be shut off from the outside… I don't-I don't see how you'll get in here._ "

" _Hey, we're good at getting into places we shouldn't be. Even better at getting out again,_ " Tavia soothed.

"Tavia, there's a mining laser down here," Garrus began, regarding the machine thoughtfully.

"Geth!" Ashley barked, ducking behind the nearest outcrop and opening fire.

" _Damn_."

" _What is it? What's happening?_ " The asari demanded, her voice spiking with fear.

" _My team is doing their job. We need to keep this line quiet for a moment._ "

Garrus appreciated that—it would have been distracting to no end to have Tavia chatting with the asari while he was trying to pick off the most annoying of geth, their little drones. "We need to put a gun on that thing of yours, Tavia!" he declared, once the shooting stopped.

" _I would_ _love_ _to have a gun on this thing_. _If you can manage it, feel free._ "

"There's a mining laser down here," Garrus resumed his train of thought from before the ambush. "What if we breech the _wall_ and send you around to have a look at the security system? You take your look and we'll decide how to proceed once we catch up."

" _That's reasonable. Inventive, too._ "

This was _definitely_ better than the dry run.

Garrus hiked over to the laser. "I'm putting it down and to your right."

" _Doctor, I'm going to have to leave you now, but this shouldn't take long._ " Tavia's projection vanished and the drone moved off to the right. " _Looks like there was some kind of lift shaft behind the doctor. I'm not sure where the platform is._ "

"Lucky that drone has mobility," Garrus agreed. "Move out of the way. Firing in three, two, one…"

The laser hit the stone near the stack of niches and, after a few protracted moments, Tavia declared that they were through.

" _See you on the other side._ "

Tavia: Dr. T'Soni

"Okay, the elevator's on the level above Dr. T'Soni. I'll see what I can do with the security fields and then send it down for you," Tavia declared as she cued the drone to project her image again. "See? No time at all, as promised," she declared to the doctor.

The girl struggled to turn around, but the effort was as futile as any other she'd made to date. " _That's a relief,_ " she answered, trying and failing to sound chipper.

"Garrus, I'm sending you the elevator first. This system is a little… complicated," Tavia declared after sending her drone to take it in from several different angles, before creating a remote uplink between the panel and one of her several interfaces. "This thing is… weird…"

" _Oh!_ " the doctor squeaked, the sound followed by a dull thud as something solid hit the floor.

Tavia looked up from her prodding of the system, turning her drone's camera to see that the security bubble—or whatever it was, had suddenly deactivated. "Ah. There we go." She abandoned her fiddling and brought her hologram to stand near the doctor.

" _And here_ _we_ _go_ ," Garrus announced.

Tavia turned to watch him, with Wrex at the back, Kaidan and Ashley flanking him, prowl off the elevator's plate. "This Garrus Vakarian," Tavia announced, "he's the man with the plan."

" _And… in that case who…?_ " the girl's blue face scrunched up as she climbed out of her undignified sprawl.

" _Tavia handles tech and public relations,_ " Garrus answered blandly as he gently helped the doctor to her feet. " _Are you hurt at all, doctor?_ "

" _No… no I'm fine…_ " the girl shuffled back from him, glancing at Tavia's hologram for reassurance.

"Tali, I'm sending you a bioscan. Confirm that for me?" Tavia asked, not looking away from her displays.

"She's a little dehydrated, probably needs some food and rest, but your scans show she's alright. As far as I can tell," Tali answered promptly.

"Garrus," Tavia switched to a private line. "Tali says bioscans read normal, but the doctor's under some physical stress—no need for a scan to tell us that. However, scans do say she needs some looking-after. We should bring her back here before we start asking her questions. Let Dr. Chakwas have a look at her."

Tavia withdrew her drone, satisfied that Garrus had Dr. T'Soni's undivided attention and would not miss her. Up the elevator shaft she went, finding that it let out into a large room. Beyond that, she could see the outside world… and geth. Lots of them. And, as she watched, the krogan battlemaster who seemed to be in a towering temper arrived.

"Doctor Chakwas?" Tali asked softly from behind Tavia. "Prepare for a patient—nothing critical, just for a precautionary checkup… Not at all. Tavia? Dr. Chakwas will be ready whenever they are."

"Thank you," Tavia responded, re-opening the public channel. "Our best way out is through—"

" _Let's get you out of here,_ " Garrus declared in what Tavia recognized as a soothing cop tone. Good. He was learning to play his strengths and not rely on dubious mystique. " _Before more geth show up._ "

" _I would_ _greatly_ _appreciate it_ ," Dr. T'Soni answered devoutly.

" _Tavia?_ " Garrus asked. From the way his helmet camera swung around, she could tell he was looking for her projection or the drone.

"I'm scouting you a way out. The elevator _will_ take you to the surface, but there's about a dozen geth and the krogan the doctor mentioned swarming all over it. They're waiting for—what was that?" Tavia demanded as everyone's video feed shook.

Voices of distress mingled, and Dr. T'Soni stumbled, tripped, and landed on her backside, only to be helped up again, this time by Kaidan.

" _Quake?_ " Ashley asked, her voice sharpening with fresh adrenaline.

" _I think we broke something…_ " Kaidan said at almost the same time.

" _Hmph._ _Nice one, turian._ "

" _Might be me, but they'll blame you, Wrex. Your reputation as a sentient wrecking ball remains intact_ ," Garrus shot back before seamlessly redirecting himself to the matter at hand. " _Okay, though the geth, through the krogan. Tavia, get Joker down here for a hot pickup. I think we're going to need it._ "

Tavia switched to the helmsman's channel, cutting off Wrex's approving laugh. She was _so_ happy he was happy… "Joker, lock onto the team's locators and swing as close as you can. We need to extract them _immediately._ Conditions might get dicey."

" _Moving into position now, Commander. ETA: five minutes._ "

" _Garrus, best time I can do is five minutes,_ " Tavia relayed, her hands beginning to shake. " _Hopefully we'll arrive before you do._ "

She hated watching combat without being able to help…

Tavia: Post-Operation

Tavia and Tali arrived in the cargo bay moments after Dr. Chakwas pronounced the ground team in good stead. "Anyone hurt?" Tavia demanded.

"Little singed," Garrus answered, his mandibles seeming to fall open in what might have been an 'I can't believe we did that' smile. "But we're okay."

" _Too close, Vakarian_ ," Joker drawled grimly, " _a couple more minutes and we'd have been swimming in molten sulfur. Landing in exploding volcanos tends to do_ _nasty_ _things to starships, like melting our hulls._ "

Tavia caught Garrus' eye and discreetly jerked her head towards the intercom; it wouldn't do her any good to mouth 'say something' at him since they didn't use the same base language.

Joker lived up to his name in more ways than once, but the one thing he never joked about was the Normandy. _His_ ship. The devotion to the hunk of metal bordered on fanatical, Tavia mused. Any more focused and he'd end up with some kind of ship-loving psychosis. She'd heard of object fixations.

But this was the perfect moment for Garrus to start—if not mending fences—at least interacting with his crew like a regular sapient.

"That's why the Alliance stationed you here, Joker," Garrus noted blandly. "Because people like me specialize in batshit crazy and it takes a pilot of your caliber to cope."

A moment of silence. Garrus never called Joker 'Joker'; it was always 'Flight Lieutenant' or 'Lieutenant Moreau.' " _Well. There_ _is_ _that,_ " the pilot allowed almost suspiciously, as though he mistrusted Garrus' humor and rather blatant compliment.

Discreetly, even more discreetly than with her nod, Tavia gave Garrus the thumbs up… then wondered if it was one of those things that differed in meaning between societies.

"We nearly die," Dr. T'Soni said shakily, looking from Tavia to Garrus to Kaidan and back. "And your pilot is making jokes?"

"Joker pulled our collective asses out of the fire," Garrus responded evenly. "I think he's entitled to a few bad jokes."

Joker chuckled at this, but said nothing. There was an ominous sound that suggested he had a couple… but they weren't for some portion or another of present company.

Tavia turned her head to hide her smirk. Better, Garrus, much better, she mused complacently.

"All right, let's get everyone armored down and debriefed. Dr. Chakwas?" Garrus asked as personnel began milling about.

"I'd like to take Dr. T'Soni to the medbay for a few routine diagnostics," Dr. Chakwas declared, more as if thinking out loud than answering Garrus' statement. "Once I'm satisfied, then you can ask her any questions you might have."

"Sounds good. Thank you, Doctor," Garrus announced, getting to his feet and stretching. "Alenko. Williams. Good job. Tavia, a word, please."

"Whatever you say, Spectre," Tavia answered, following Garrus to the elevators while Kaidan and Ashley moved for the gear lockers to armor down.

Garrus: Hard Request

Garrus led them behind the Mako and Tavia gave a discreet signal to the technicians locking it down: _lock it down, then hang back for a minute._

"You're being strangely cryptic, Garrus," Tavia noted once Garrus stood there for several minutes, waving his mandibles and scowling. She crossed her arms. "Whatever it is, I think I can take it."

But take it _how_? "Shepard. Dr. T'Soni is an asari Prothean expert," Garrus began slowly, watching his fingers drumming on his arm rather than look at her.

"Yeah. I got that. Remember who pulled her data?"

Garrus looked up, his bright blue eyes meeting hers. "It is possible that she might be able to make sense of the… of the junk in your head."

The blood rushed out of Tavia's face, leaving her pale and pasty. "The last time we did that—"

"The last time we did that it was an interface with a Prothean artifact. This is… different," the turian argued lamely, aware of how lame his argument really was and hating himself for having brought it up without a better train of thought behind it.

"Go fuck yourself," Tavia answered shortly, her crossed arms becoming more of a protective gesture than simply somewhere for her arms to be besides hanging down. "With a _cactus_." The idea of having any of the crap in her head stirred up again clearly left her frightened and probably nauseous.

He didn't blame her.

"I'm not asking you to volunteer—although I am asking. I'm willing to make it a trade agreement. Something you need for something I need." He leaned forward to whisper near her ear a promise his bosses would probably kill him over. "Help me with this, this once, and anything I learn about Cerberus, retroactive from today until the day I can't use a terminal, is yours. I'll be your pipeline if anything turns up—during the mission of _ex post facto_."

Tavia's eyes widened, her mouth opening slightly as she weighed the promise and the favor. She had only begun sifting through the reports Garrus had assembled, sketchy as they were, and already she knew the name. Cerberus, an Alliance Black Ops team, had gone off the reservation. They were suspected in several high profile 'accidents' and several more highly unpleasant incidents. He could almost see the thoughts as if stamped on her face: he had her by the hair and he knew it, but she couldn't quite bring herself to call him a smug turian bastard.

"I don't really want to ask you to do this," Garrus admitted. "That's why I'm proposing a trade."

"You haven't misled me yet," Tavia said darkly.

"And I never will." Hesitantly, he took her arm in one three-fingered hand, squeezing gently. The muscle was firm, encasing strong bones. "I'm not asking you to do this alone, either. I'll be right there, and if anything goes wrong— _anything_ —I'll put a stop to it and we'll just find another way. If there's no other way, then we'll just go with what we've got."

Tavia nodded, comforted but not reassured. To restore a sense of normalcy she cuffed him on the shoulder. "I like it when you wear your cop hat."

"I pulled it out just for you."

* * *

Special thanks to Mai-Danishgirl for catching an error in the narrative.


	12. Chapter 12

Garrus: Prothean Expert

Garrus dropped into a chair in the briefing room and without hesitating joined the ranks of agents who had poured themselves a glass of fresh water. Although everyone had had time to drink, eat, and get mopped up, it was clear that the heat of Therum lingered in people's minds, manifesting as an unusual level of thirst.

"Welcome aboard the Normandy, Dr. T'Soni," Tavia began, pleasantly businesslike. "I'm Commander Tavia Shepard, this is Spectre Garrus Vakarian. He calls the plays, I make them happen."

"It's good to meet you both," Dr. T'Soni responded, shifting nervously in her chair. "I do want to thank you—not just for saving me from the volcano, but for everything else. Those geth would have killed me. Or dragged me off to Saren." She chafed her arms as if to warm herself.

"What did Saren want with you?" Kaidan asked. "Did you know something—"

Kaidan cut off at a gesture from Tavia. Garrus approved. It wasn't wise to put all one's cards on the table… not just yet, at least.

"—that could help him?" the lieutenant amended smoothly.

"Perhaps," Dr. T'Soni answered, unaware of the exchange between marines. "I specialize in Prothean studies, specifically things connected with their extinction. You'd have to be a little more specific about what you think he thinks I know—I've spent the past fifty years working on it—because I know quite a bit in general but not, perhaps, in the specific," the asari answered, her words starting and stopping in the fashion of one who wanted to be up-front but was still leery of the people to whom she was speaking.

"The Conduit," Garrus declared, leaning on the table. Time to put his metaphorical cards on it, then. "He's looking for something called the Conduit."

"Ah, I see. No, I don't know anything specific about it; I've only ever crossed a few vague references to it. They do date back roughly to the time of the extinction event—whatever it was," Dr. T'Soni answered, settling back in her chair. She crossed her legs and leaned one arm on the chair's armrest, propping her jaw against her knuckles and jiggling a foot thoughtfully.

"We have a theory about why the Protheans disappeared," Garrus declared.

Dr. T'Soni smiled ruefully. "With all due respect Spectre, I think I have heard every theory out there by this point. The problem is finding evidence to support them. The Protheans left remarkably little behind. It's almost as if someone didn't want them to be remembered. As if someone came along after the Protheans were gone and cleansed the galaxy of clues. I won't bore you with my more… nebulous… theories."

"Reapers," Tavia said heavily. "We believe—have reason to believe—a species of sentient machines called Reapers destroyed the Protheans and tried to erase them from history."

"You do? Why? How?" Dr. T'Soni demanded as she straightened up, her expression caught between enthusiasm and skepticism. "I've never heard of any reference to Reapers. What evidence—" the asari got to her feet, leaning on the table with braced arms.

He was glad she wasn't watching him like that. "Easy, Doctor," Garrus rumbled, glancing at Tavia to check what level of distress she was showing. At the moment, she looked fine… though the tension around her eyes suggested she didn't like Dr. T'Soni looming like that with that level of enthusiasm either. "The evidence is in Commander Shepard's head—contact with two different Prothean beacons on two different worlds. Also, Ashley, Kaidan and I saw one on a world called Eden Prime."

Tavia, morosely, toggled something and a haptic display on the briefing table lit up, revealing a still frame from the Eden Prime footage which she enlarged and adjusted the resolution.

"Oh my!" The doctor's eyes liked ready to pop out of her head as she turned the bright blue gaze away from Tavia to peer at the Reaper before turning back to Tavia. Clearly the human was more interesting than the holo. "Really? An actual working beacon? What-what was it like?"

"If a brain could chew razorblades and swallow a quart of acid, that would kinda be what it was like," Tavia declared flatly.

For a moment the asari recoiled from Tavia's repressive tone. However, enthusiasm quickly won out. "Visions…" the asari breathed, then exhaled, nodding her head slowly then faster as her ideas coalesced. "Yes, _yes_ , that makes sense. You understand, of course, that the beacons were designed specifically to transfer information directly into the mind of a user. Finding any that are still whole is extremely rare."

"Well, these were both broken," Tavia reiterated.

"Even so, they _worked_ … sort of. Acquiring a functioning beacon, even a damaged one, would be worth almost any risk," Dr. T'Soni responded, studying Tavia closely without apparently realizing how close to rude she was getting.

She was young, this asari. Garrus felt sure of it. Fifty years might sound like a long time, but for a species that could live in a thousand odd years… it was just a tiny sliver of time.

"The secondary problem—after the beacon being damaged in the first place—is that a beacon is designed to interface with a Prothean mind. Whatever information you received would have been confused, unclear, at best," the doctor continued.

"Yeah. I got that impression," came the morose mutter when it became obvious Dr. T'Soni meant it as a question and not an observation.

Garrus could see that the doctor had the same idea he did: see if she couldn't make sense of Tavia's jumbled vision. He wouldn't have to ask her to do something possibly distasteful, either. With an expression on her face like that, she would probably jump to volunteer, tripping over herself along the way.

"It's… amazing… that you were able to make any sense of it at all. A lesser mind could have been utterly destroyed. You must be remarkably strong-willed, Commander," Dr. T'Soni declared.

"Fascinating as it is, this isn't helping us find Saren or the Conduit." A quick look told Garrus that while Kaidan had been content to let Tavia deal with her own issues in her own way in her own time, Kaidan had noted her discomfort and had watched for the moment when it needed to stop. According to him, that was, and apparently he felt now was best.

"Oh… I'm sorry," Dr. T'Soni faltered, a purple blush rising in her cheeks. "My scientific curiosity got the better of me. I'm afraid I have no information that can help you find Saren or the Conduit."

"Saren clearly wanted you out of the picture. Tavia, I'd like to keep her aboard the _Normandy_ , just to be safe," Garrus declared, shifting in is chair.

"Acceptable."

Dr. T'Soni missed the look Tavia shot Ashley, who nodded once to show she understood. Garrus thought he knew what that was about: ' _keep an eye on her, just in case_ ,' met with grim agreement _'got it. Thanks, Skipper.'_

"Thank you, Spectre, Commander," Dr. T'Soni sighed, sitting back down. "Saren might come after me again… I'll be glad to be in a safe place. Also, you never know, my knowledge of the Protheans might come in handy yet."

"Or her biotics when the fighting starts," Wrex grunted, making several people flinch. When Wrex got quiet and didn't try to fill a room with the force of his personality, he was easy to lose track of. This proved one of those times: the krogan sat slumped comfortably in his chair, almost sprawling.

"We think it will and sooner rather than later," Garrus said, putting a hand on Tavia's shoulder. "We were hoping you could make some sense of what Tavia has rattling around upstairs."

"Oh? I-I could try," the asari answered, trying not to sound too enthusiastic about the idea. "If the Commander doesn't—"

"If she wants to do it, let her do it. It's necessary," Tavia said, swallowing hard and standing up.

Her tone was so clipped and braced that Dr. T'Soni's expression crinkled with concern. Garrus shook his head, indicating with one finger that it really was alright.

"It's fine," Tavia repeated, amending her tone. "Really."

Garrus stood up too, putting both hands on Tavia's shoulders after motioning Dr. T'Soni to come around the table. He could feel Tavia trembling with unpleasant apprehension. That she didn't tell him she was fine and didn't need his physical reinforcement was telling. He squeezed gently and was surprised when Tavia lifted a hand and closed her grip around one of his fingers.

"This won't hurt, Commander," Dr. T'Soni assured her, still looking dubious. But as Tavia said nothing more, nor did anyone else, she finally accepted that however unpleasant Tavia found the impending contact she was willing enough for Dr. T'Soni not to tell everyone to go eat worms and refuse to continue. He didn't think she could come up with anything more cutting. "Take a deep breath… and let it out." Blue hands touched Tavia's temples gently. "Embrace eternity."

Tavia went rigid and within seconds collapsed, like a marionette whose strings had just been cut. Garrus was glad he'd been so close and was able to catch her deadweight, lowering her gently to the ground as Kaidan hurriedly employed his biotics to push the chairs closest to them away to give her a clear patch in which to settle.

She didn't twitch; she didn't shake; her breathing was even; her eyes weren't flickering behind her eyelids.

"VI, page Dr. Chakwas. Tavia's had a spill," Garrus declared, despite the distress and aggression filling the room.

"I don't… that was…" Dr. T'Soni breathed, almost panting as she watched Tavia with wide eyes.

"Is she alright?" Garrus asked firmly, not looking away from Tavia's unusually pale face.

"I… yes. Yes… it was as if her mind just shut down. Like a terminal will when it takes a surge," Dr. T'Soni said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'd say it was mental self-defense, a sort of subconsciously learned behavior. Extrordinar—whoa!" the asari wobbled and caught herself on the table. "Sorry. The joining process is… draining." Nevertheless, she looked worriedly (and a little perplexedly) at Tavia's limp form. "…you don't think I actually hurt her, do you?"

"I dunno. She's sprawling on the ground. Is that normal?" Wrex demanded.

" _Is_ she alright?" Tali asked, her voice elevated. As the one who worked closest to Tavia, he expected she might just sail into the doctor if she thought Tavia was really hurt doing something she hadn't wanted to do.

…which made Tavia's preference for not sending most of the room away a telling thing: if Dr. T'Soni _did_ take malicious action against her, there were people on hand to contain the situation.

But clearing the room might not be a bad idea. "Williams, will you help the doctor get settled in?" Garrus asked, touching Tavia's cheek. Her skin was warm and without cold sweat.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that," Ashley answered, her brow furrowing as she regarded the unconscious Tavia. Apparently comforted that Tavia seemed to be in no pain, mental or otherwise, the Chief nodded for Dr. T'Soni to follow her, which the asari nervously did.

"What happened?' Dr. Chakwas demanded as she entered.

Garrus heaved Tavia carefully into his arms and set her on the table. "We needed to see if any sense of her information could be made."

Dr. Chakwas began taking Tavia's vitals with practiced movements. "Everyone out," the doctor snapped, pointing at the door.

Everyone, barring Garrus himself, trooped out obediently.

Not two minutes later, Tavia took a deep breath and opened her eyes groggily, squinting in the bright overhead lights. "Are we done yet?" she asked thickly.

"Yes," Garrus answered as Dr. Chakwas helped her sit up. Hopefully for good, though he did not hold out much hope of this. He was tired of watching Tavia's eggs getting re-scrambled. At least this time she really did seem alright. His mandibles waved worriedly as Dr. Chakwas hovered concernedly.

"Any good come from it?" Trust her to stick to the purpose of the exercise. It was like watching someone unexpectedly woken from a nap. A little muzzy and hazy, but it cleared; it would do so quicker if she ingested a stimulant.

He wished he had something better to tell her. "Nothing conclusive," Garrus answered, which was true. "How do you feel? Are you hurt?"

"No, just a little tired. That wasn't as bad as it could have been." Tavia tried to smile but failed.

"Well, tired is good. I'm going to assign you some bed rest, and you'd better adhere to it," Dr. Chawkas said firmly. "Spectre Vakarian. In future you will inform me if any proceedings such as these occur. The Commander has the right to on-site medical care." The doctor pinned him with a look that would have made any turian he knew salute and say 'yes ma'am' before obeying her orders immediately—and all of that without a moment's thought.

"Don't be too hard on him, Doc. I'm the one who didn't invite you to sit in, and I knew we'd be doing this," Shepard immediately responded, swinging her legs over the side of the table.

"Bed rest," Dr. Chakwas frowned as Tavia meekly slid off the table, got her feet under her, then started off.

Garrus watched as Tavia's bad knee showed a momentary weakness, but only a momentary one.

Dr. Chakwas departed, chiding Tavia the whole way as she shooed her charge along.

Rather than actually go somewhere when evicted from the briefing room, Kaidan and Tali stationed themselves outside the door in order to ambush Garrus when he emerged. "Think that was worth it?" Tali demanded worriedly.

"I hope so," Garrus answered. He would feel horribly guilty otherwise.

Tavia: Girl Talk

"You're crazy," Ashley declared, dropping onto Tavia's bed—the only real place to sit in the XO's quarters. "You know that, right?"

"Crazy in what way?" Tavia asked, adjusting the placement of the icepack upon her eyes. Although feeling comparatively fine after the asari's probing, she did have a headache coming on, hence the ice. She wasn't sure if the headache came from something Dr. T'Soni did or because the stress of having to go through with it was over.

"You let an asari screw with your brain."

"Yes, and I'm officially on the list of people who don't go in for that asari melding thing as a recreational activity," Tavia answered.

"I'm not buying it, you know. That estranged mother-daughter thing," Ashley grunted, crossing her arms and settling against Tavia's headboard.

"I dunno. I barely talk to my parents," Tavia said. She felt bad about the fact from time to time, but not bad enough to try to change things. They'd drifted and she'd let it happen. She didn't know what they would think if she suddenly made contact… and she wasn't sure she wanted to deal with the mere cordiality she expected as a best-case scenario.

"Yeah, but _your_ parents aren't rampaging around the galaxy with a crazy turian and his geth army trying to bring about the end of the galaxy," Ashley pointed out.

"You've got me there. Keep an eye on her if it makes you feel better but don't…" Tavia twirled a finger, then sighed when she couldn't come up with a better word. "Don't alienate her."

"Speaking of aliens, Spooky out there did a decent job today."

That was something, coming from Ashley. "We had a few words," Tavia answered mildly. "He's just nervous with a human crew. Goodness knows I'd be nervous trying to manage a bunch of turians."

Ashley shuddered. "He makes me feel like prey. I don't think I like it."

"Teeth and claws link with genetic memory. Think I'm finally starting to tell when he's smiling and when he's starting to feel cranky. Hand me my halo, would you? It's in the bedside table—top drawer."

"Your nerd glasses are showing." Ashley looked around, found the visor—colloquially called 'halo' since it circled the back of the head, hooking over one ear and covering only one eye covered by a screen. "What's up?"

"I downloaded a program non-turian diplomats use," Tavia answered, putting the halo on and cuing her omnitool. "It registers subharmonics and, given enough time, the visual feedback to audio cues trains the ear to pick up nuance on the audible level or the eye to pick up body language cues."

"Wow. That's in-depth."

"It was on the packaging," Tavia shrugged. "Communication is the most important thing for a successful operation. Witness the armor retrieval thing for Wrex."

"I nearly laughed when I saw Vakarian's skinny ass climb up on those crates," Ashley snickered. "For a brief minute—you know, between bullets—I had this image of him flying through the air with this 'what the hell just happened' look on his face."

Tavia snorted. _There_ was a mental picture.

Garrus: Mechanic

"So I said, if you're not gonna use it _right_ , throw it out," Garrus warbled as he and Kaidan investigated the damage to the mako.

" _Damn_ right," Kaidan agreed fervently, looking disgusted and a little puzzled. "I mean, who does _that_ with one of _those_?"

"Lang, apparently," Garrus responded philosophically. "I know you say this thing is a beast, but I wish it had more armor plating. I kept waiting for one of those geth slugs to punch through."

"It's armored to the gills—what do you mean _more armor_?"

Garrus blinked at his friend—he was comfortable calling Kaidan that, in his head at least. "More. The opposite of less. The upward measure relative to 'what it has now.' You know. More."

"Nerd."

"Thank you."

After a few minutes of silent working, Kaidan paused in his work. "How's it stack up against whatever the turian military uses?"

"I think this says something about your ancestors' need to climb. Oddly enough, our hardware seems to want to discourage getting off the ground. You'd never catch us climbing vertical rock formations," Garrus snorted. "How's the Alliance feel about the amount of damage this thing takes?" It was strange keeping himself from saying _your Alliance_ , just as it was strange not to hear _you turians_. Kaidan tended to keep his speech clear of indications he saw anything other than an individual—species didn't come into it.

"You don't want to know, but there's not a lot they can do about it except pay out or replace it when we finally bust it up too bad to fix."

"It's never too busted-up to fix," Garrus declared flatly, earning a laugh from Kaidan.

" _Never_ ," Kaidan agreed fervently. "Your dad ever work vehicles with you?"

"No way. The man could barely change the oil in his skycar. I usually did it. Great investigator, _lousy_ mechanic. What about you?" He grinned at the memory of his father. 'Hey Garrus, come help your old man for a second…'

…or having to explain to the garage why one problem looked like an attempt to fix another problem gone awry.

"Oh, yeah. My dad and my granddad when he was still alive. When I was a kid, they'd let me hand them the tools they needed. I thought it was the greatest job ever. Probably would have gone to vocational school to be a mechanic if…" He shrugged, as if the gesture would complete the sentence.

"…if your biotics hadn't manifested," Garrus finished sagely. "It's like that with turians: you manifest biotics and they put you in a special unit no matter what you were training for."

Kaidan made a face. "Ugh. You _segregate_ them?"

"Safety in numbers. Turians have a wide mistrust of biotics just like humans do," Garrus answered firmly. Truthfully, he'd never really thought about it. He stood by his assessment, though: safety in numbers.

"Hell of a common ground to have," Kaidan grunted, shaking his head but refraining from saying more.

"I didn't say it was fair." After a few moments, "How do humans train their biotics?"

"Nowadays, they join the Ascension project which is mostly civilian, but some of the Alliance ROTC programs offer biotic training when applicable. Ascension's more popular. Most people figure civilian training is better for something like biotics."

Garrus could see why. Perception was everything and if a military was training biotics it would be assumed—rightly or wrongly—that those biotics were being trained for a single purpose: war. He was glad the Hierarchy didn't really distinguish between 'civilian' and 'military' the way the rest of the galaxy did. "ROTC?"

Kaidan shifted as if groping for words or explanation of a concept with which he was only vaguely familiar. "That's like… peewee military." His face scrunched up as though he didn't like the answer he'd given… but wasn't sure how else to phrase it.

Garrus nodded as though he understood. Still… _peewee_ military? You were either _in_ or you _weren't_ … right? Thank goodness the Hierarchy was a sensible, reasonable, logical place! Hearing this… it gave him a renewed sense of appreciation for his own society.

"It's training kids specifically to go into the military."

"You have _preschool_ for your military?" Garrus asked, flabbergasted by what he was hearing. They had… then how… humans were rapidly pushing to become a military power. Some thought they might even rival the Hierarchy if left to their own devices. And they had _preschool_ for their military?

Kaidan's next words destroyed the hope that the human was just messing with him. "Well, it sounds awful when you say it like _that_. I wouldn't say preschool, just…" Kaidan waved his too-many digits as he thought. "Like decaf."

"Ah." It still sounded ridiculous… and was apparently true. The military was supposed to train its soldiers; why did they need preparatory training for the training? It just didn't make sense. "Which were you?"

"I was pre-Ascension. Packed us up for 'Biotic Acclimation and Temperance training' at a place called Jump Zero—that's Gagarin station, if you've heard of it."

Garrus shook his head.

"Not exactly fond memories and, no offense, but we're not that friendly yet," Kaidan declared simply.

"No problem. Everyone's got something that's no one's business." He considered it something that Kaidan told him that much, if the memories were so unpleasant. He could easily have stopped at 'pre-Ascension.'

"So, what about you—dreams of C-Sec from an early age?"

"Absolutely. I discovered the problem with going into my father's field too little, too late," Garrus shook his head, remembering that first moment of 'aw shit, what have I gotten myself into?'

"Ah. Friction?"

"Let's say they kept us as far apart from one another as possible to avoid pyrotechnics if one of us had a bad day," Garrus answered delicately—so much so that Kaidan gave a sound like a sneeze, which was definitely a laugh, going so far as the climb onto the Mako so he could lean over the engine block… thereby hiding his face.

Well, it was easier to smile fondly at the memories now that he was away from them. "He exploded all over the place the day he found out I was leaving to train with Nihlus. I think he was more disappointed than anything else and he _doesn't_ deal well with disappointment. Maybe a little worried I'd get in over my head." It was easier to see that, looking back. At the time he hadn't seen it.

Looking back… he was right to worry.

"Bet that was a pretty picture," Kaidan answered, shaking his head.

"Great if you were a fly on the wall, not so great once I started shouting back. Right in the mess hall in the middle of lunch. Normally he'd have cornered me at my desk. And when I say 'cornered' I mean it—I literally had a corner desk so there was no escaping when he wanted to talk."

"Ouch."

"He _meant_ well, he just didn't quite _do_ well," Garrus sighed.

"I know what that's like."

From his tone, Garrus could only suppose it had to do with Jump Zero. He didn't pry, and was glad when Kaidan changed the subject to how messed up the Mako was and how messed up it was likely to get if he—Garrus—didn't stop trying to stress-test it.

Tavia: Welcoming

Dr. T'Soni joined the mess at dinner, but sat by herself in a corner, looking a bit woebegone and very lonely.

Tavia couldn't blame her: when one was the daughter of the galaxy's biggest threat's number two, that rubbed off on one—not that most of the crew knew about this connection. However, most of the crew knew Dr. Chakwas had been summoned to the briefing room after Dr. T'Soni appeared to have been escorted from it. She wished Garrus had been a bit more delicate in his handling of the situation.

Combining the impressions the crew had (or that she believed they had) with a shy personality… instant isolation.

It was why Tavia forsook Ashley's genial company and plunked down across from Dr. T'Soni, who had been watching the communal meal from her lonely table. It was partly damage control—the crew would see and repeat that Tavia had no problem with the asari and if she didn't, they needn't either—but mostly kindness. "Therum was pretty brutal; how are you feeling?" she asked without preamble.

"Well, I suppose. Your doctor has given me a clean bill of health," Dr. T'Soni answered. "And you? I must admit, I've never had anyone pass out on me before." She tried to smile, but looked nervous all the same, her blue brow crinkling as she examined Tavia's face for signs of lingering distress.

"No damage, just a bit of a headache after," came the affable answer. After a few bites of her meal, Tavia put her fork down. "You get anything useful out of me?"

She sincerely hoped so. She had not lied when she said there was no damage, and she couldn't say the experience was traumatic—a little unpleasant given her state of mind and the stuff Dr. T'Soni had been prodding… but like any nightmare, it dimmed after one woke up (and she expected it, like some nightmares, to come back later).

Dr. T'Soni shook her head. "Just flashes about the Reapers and… things." She swallowed hard, as if trying not to remember the same frightening unease Tavia knew all too well. "Nothing was very clear. I'm sorry. I know you were hoping for real answers."

"Don't worry about it. It was a long shot anyway," Garrus declared, plunking down beside Tavia, who nodded her agreement, though she couldn't quite squelch her disappointment. It had been a longshot, after all. "Therum was pretty brutal: how're you feeling?"

Tavia snorted as Dr. T'Soni giggled.

"What?" he asked. "What's the joke?"

The frequency register on Tavia's halo dipped, a readout of 'curiosity/confusion' appearing beneath it. The feedback was going to take some getting used to, she decided. Ultimately, it would probably be worth it.

"Commander Shepard asked almost exactly the same thing when she joined me," Dr. T'Soni explained. "I'm well, thank you, Spectre."

"What about you?" Garrus directed himself to Tavia. "Nice headgear, by the way. Did I start a fashion trend?" The register indicated 'teasing/hopeful—social-conscious undertone.'

The program had been a fabulous investment, Tavia decided as she grinned at him. "Check the model—it's older than yours. So who started what now?" Garrus made a face which didn't translate, but she thought it might be a rather juvenile response. "It's got an audio analysis program on it. I can't always hear your vocal harmonics, but this picks them up and processes them out. So… really mature, Garrus."

Garrus' expression went slack. He opened his mouth, shut it, then wiggled his mandibles in thought. He did the only thing he could, as Tavia snickered and, unseen by him, winked at Dr. T'Soni who giggled softly: he went back to business with all the dignity he could muster. "Ah. I know that one—Citadel diplomats use it all the time. Some of them even stop needing it, having learned cues that go with the extra-audio frequencies."

"That's the one," Tavia agreed as seriously as she could around her lingering smirk.

"Room for one more?" Tali's distorted voice asked as she put a hand on the back of the unoccupied chair beside Dr. T'Soni.

"Help yourself," Tavia and Garrus declared before frowning at one another.

"Shouldn't you be doing that with _her_?" Garrus asked, indicating Dr. T'Soni.

"What can I say? Great minds think alike," Tavia answered, unperturbed but smirking. "It'll come in handy eventually. Trust me."

"I hate that phrase, 'trust me.' It usually means 'run the other way as fast as possible."

" _You_? Run away? Proud turian Spectre and all?" Tavia looked at him in mock shock and horror.

"Staggering, I know. But running away and giving ground aren't the same thing. Sometimes giving ground is the best way to win. I give you Adrien Victus," Garrus held up a finger as if to underscore his statement.

"I know the poem _In_ victus. Is that close?" came the innocent response.

"I suppose I can't blame you for your ignorance."

"I'll remember that generosity of spirit in future. So, what did Victus do that's relevant to this conversation?"

"They're not usually this in synch," Tali murmured to Dr. T'Soni as Garrus explained the tactic he had in mind. "Usually there're more splayed mandibles and chest pounding."

Tavia and Garrus looked at one another, grinning, then displayed the 'typical behavior.'

"You're in a _remarkably_ good mood," Garrus announced to Tavia—her visor reporting relief and contentment in the sentiment—opening his drink with a pop. "It's good to see."

"Thanks," Tavia answered with a nod. "No casualties on the mission; that's always a good thing."

"…how's that nightstand reading coming?" he asked nervously.

"It's coming. Thanks—it helps me sleep better at night." It made the nightmares worse, but somehow she felt better knowing _something_ about why her unit died. At the very least, she knew who to start looking for and when she found them…

Tavia realized she was grimly and determinedly trying to cut through her plate instead of the so-called 'chicken.'

"Got another mission lined up—I forwarded you the details so you could mull them over before we get there. Joker's waiting for you to countersign on the destination," Garrus continued.

"Thanks. A forewarned engineer is an effective engineer. Especially if I can sleep on it."

"I still think of bridges when you say that," Garrus noted, disappearing behind his drink.

"Do they always talk business at the dinner table?" Dr. T'Soni asked in an undertone.

"I don't know," Tali answered equally softly. "They don't usually sit together. Tavia has Ashley and Vakarian has Kaidan."

"Ah." The asari seemed to wilt at the knowledge that her table was full because of responsibility.

"Hey Doc," Tavia cut in abruptly, "I wouldn't be sitting here if I didn't want to be. So buck up. Join the conversation. We'll quit with the work chat."

"I'm afraid I'm not well-versed in military matters," Dr. T'Soni said meekly.

"I'm not really military," Tavia answered, sipping her water.

"Then change the subject," Garrus suggested before tossing back a mouthful of… something.

Tavia noticed she wasn't the only one who made an effort to not watch Garrus as he worked the morsel back and swallowed. Turian teeth weren't really meant for chewing, and the tongue was not as supple as those of most races.

Garrus: Evening Chat

Garrus lay awake, listening to the audio recordings of Tavia's after-dinner conversation with Dr. T'Soni, taking the doctor's statement. He'd asked Tavia to do it—despite her invocation of his cop hat and that getting statements had been a major part of _his_ life—based on the fact that Dr. T'Soni seemed to have latched onto her.

The doctor was not subtle: it was clear she had developed something of a crush on Tavia. He supposed he could see why and wished Tavia luck however she responded to the young asari's interest. Personally though, he felt that—had the attention been directed at him—he would have been put off by her age. A hundred and six was a long time to a turian or a human, but with asari… well, it would be like robbing the crèche, barely a step away from pedophilia.

"Garrus!"

Garrus sat up at Tavia's hiss. "Enter."

She pushed the tent open and dropped onto the floor, sitting in the way humans called 'tailor fashion' which made his knees ache just watching. "Don't you _ever_ leave me alone with her like that again!" Tavia glared at him, crossing her arms.

Having had Dr. T'Soni's statement, he'd left the two women together. "Why not?"

Tavia merely continued glaring at him.

"Oh, that's very articulate, Tavia," Garrus declared mock-contritely. "I completely understand the problem now."

"She's like _Russ_ , all clinging and… and…" Tavia shivered, then growled something under her breath.

Garrus nodded. He knew vaguely that Russ was Tavia's significant other, that Kaidan (and now Dr. T'Soni, apparently) reminded her of him, and that if he knew anything about relationships Russ had better loosen the stranglehold he was forming or Tavia was going to take drastic measures. He barely knew Tavia and he still knew she wasn't a woman one could hold too close or too tight.

"Just… don't leave me alone with the crushing and the goo-goo eyes—yes, they happened. It's not as obvious when you're around and I don't want to hurt the kid's feelings," Tavia sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"I'll try," Garrus answered, more because it was expected than because he had any intention of going out of his way to save Tavia the inconvenience of dealing with an asari's childhood crush. "She's very young."

"I know. I did a relative-age analysis so I knew what kind of person I was dealing with."

"That… was very wise," Garrus blinked.

Tavia cracked a smile and gave him a look of mixed emotions. "I work with information. I have to know who my people are—and I'd like to keep her away from the fighting until I know her a bit better and know if she can handle it. That would be in the interest of your and the ground team's safety," she answered.

"Understood and smart move." He was getting used to Tavia's various breakdowns. In his experience, there were always blind spots or places where he simply had to trust people. With Tavia there seemed to be far fewer, to the point that he began to wonder, if this kept up, whether he would be able to predict something or anything about her.

They'd certainly managed at dinner.

"I routed us to Feros, by the way. We should be there in a few days."

"Good. I hope there's something left of the colony." He knew he couldn't have asked for a better response time as far as getting the Normandy where it needed to be, but he knew that when a colony was in trouble a few days might as well be a few years, depending on the situation.

"So do I," Tavia agreed, tone subdued. She pushed to her feet. "We'll be ready by the time we arrive. I've got a few more things to see to. And I meant it about Dr. T'Soni. Never again."

But he thought he detected a sense of amusement about the situation, _ex post facto_.

"Tavia, you may have to hurt her feelings to get your point across. Or just tell her you're _with_ someone," Garrus answered.

Tavia's cheeks turned pink, a slow suffusing of color which, in addition the way she crossed her arms, told him what had happened before she actually spoke. "I broke it off this morning, just after we hooked up to the comm buoy and before the mission."

Garrus sat up and blinked at her.

"Guess it must have been the right thing. I feel a bit odd but not particularly cut up." She sounded almost perplexed and surprised by the fact. "Huh."

"That was coordination on a bad day?" Garrus demanded. Then, without waiting for an answer, "Damn. Your Alliance is a bunch of idiots for letting you go."

"Thanks for saying so," Tavia said softly. "I appreciate it."

"Nothing but the truth." And it was.


	13. Chapter 13

Tavia: Feros

"Alright, ladies and gentleman. The planet over which we are orbiting is called Feros, and you _will be_ wearing your breathing filters. There's enough dust floating around on this world to give a vorcha a bad day," Tavia began. The ground team stood armored in the cargo bay while she, Dr. T'Soni, and Tali stood facing them. "The primary settlement is called Zhu's Hope, under the leadership of this man, Fai Dan." She brought up an image on her omnitool, secured from the colonial records on Earth.

"This colony is probably underfunded, even if its patron, ExoGeni, maintains a presence. It was also under geth attack when communications severed. Until we have the colony secured there is nothing— _nothing_ —we can do about anything else." Because there were always a million little problems and, as she had experienced during her time with the Alliance military, the arrival of soldiers to a beleaguered colony meant the expectation that they would be able to fix everything all at once. No one seemed to bear in mind the concept of problem triage—not that one could blame them. "We'll hold a second mission brief as soon as we have a foothold with the colony. Spectre Vakarian, at your order. Good luck."

With that, she turned on her heel and took what Garrus now jokingly called 'the entourage' back up to the briefing room. Tali still helped Tavia manage the combat data, but Dr. T'Soni simply needed to be kept out from underfoot. The asari seemed a little less puppyish this morning, for which Tavia was extremely grateful.

Unfortunately, this lessening of attention was made up for by the asari's enthusiastic curiosity.

"I didn't know Spectres employed this sort of setup," Dr. T'Soni marveled as Tavia activated her interfaces and monitors.

"They don't usually," she answered patiently. "This is a special case. Radio check, ground team."

" _Vakarian, checking in._ "

" _Alenko, check._ "

" _Loud and clear, Skipper._ "

" _Urrrrrp. Sorry, Shepard._ "

"I love you too, Wrex," Tavia sighed.

" _Are you getting decent visual?_ " Garrus asked as he toggled her camera drone on.

"Ugh. I never want to see up your nose again, Garrus. That's just gross. Ash, take that away from him, he's got that grin…"

"Are they always like that?" Dr. T'Soni asked Tali.

"Hm? Oh, sometimes. Truthfully, it's a lot better than how they used to be. She couldn't take two steps without him wanting to go off in another direction and take the mission with him,": then, and so conspiratorially that Tavia almost missed it, "He hasn't been at this Spectre thing very long, but she specialized in managing the flow of combat. Or so she says."

"It was only that one mission—and it was a dress rehearsal." Tavia gave an affirming hand gesture but did not otherwise take her attention from her pre-mission tasks.

" _Prepping for drop,_ "Kaidan announced.

"Watch the winds during deployment, Kaidan; they're pretty brutal. Feeding you the meteorological data now," Tavia answered, bringing it up.

" _Ugh; brutal's a good word._ _Compensating. Okay, we should have a nice, easy drop,_ "Kaidan announced.

" _This still constitutes as crazy in most cultures,_ " Garrus noted. Tavia could almost hear him bracing himself for the impending (if completely controlled) fall.

" _Are you kidding? It's great! Let her rip, El-Tee!_ "

"Williams usually disagrees with Garrus on principle," Tali whispered to Dr. T'Soni.

" _Just so you know, I had lunch before we left. Better put it down gentle, kid. I get airsick._ "

"…"

That, Tavia thought grimly, was all anyone on the other side needed to say.

"…and Wrex antagonizes _everyone_. I think it's his way of saying everything's fine," Tali clarified.

Speaking of whom, Tavia had noticed that Wrex seemed to be getting a bit… stir crazy… lately. She didn't know enough about krogan to know if it was just how they were on a spaceship or if there was more to it. "You barf it up, you buff it up," Tavia responded. "Navy rules."

" _Three, two, one, dropping._ "

Tavia counted in her head.

" _Drop successful—and everyone's lunches are still in their tummies. Seriously, Wrex? Airsick?_ "Kaidan asked.

" _You know, if they all turn out that gentle I could learn to nap through these,_ " Garrus warbled contentedly.

" _You're_ _not stuck in the back seat,_ " the krogan grunted.

" _No I'm not, Wrex. No I'm not,_ " came the smug rejoinder (and an 'oof!' that sounded as if Wrex had elbowed him).

" _Woops. Sorry._ "

"Feeding you navpoint and coordinates. Be careful—this colony is built quite literally on the ruins of what was here before. When are you going to requisition me a shuttle, Garrus?" Tavia asked.

" _I'm saving something for your birthday,_ " Garrus answered blithely.

"Three words: mobile command center." It would put her closer to the action and double as an emergency bug out vehicle.

Garrus: Sinking Feeling

Garrus looked at the hologram of Tavia, whose arms were crossed, her brow knitted into deep lines of concern. "I'm glad we're having the same feeling of concern," he declared as, once again, he was blankly told to 'speak to Fai Dan.'

"Saw a scene like this once in a horror movie. It didn't end well for the marines," Ashley breathed uneasily.

" _Kaidan, you're the closest thing I've got to a science officer. I want you to take some samples—air, water, soil, you know the drill. I'll have Dr. Chakwas run them for anything weird._ "

"What would show up?" Kaidan asked practically, though he immediately cued his omnitool. "Unless you've got a full printout on the Feros ecosystem, you might as well be looking at a wall of abstract art."

" _I'll feel better._ "

Kaidan chuckled at this, but apparently made ready to take the samples. "Beaming you the air printout," he announced a moment later.

" _Thanks. Doc—run this to Dr. Chakwas, would you, please?_ "

"Good thing we're all wearing breathers. And I promise, no one will use the planetside water short of an emergency," Garrus rumbled as he approached 'Fai Dan'—whom he knew only by process of elimination.

" _Do that. I'm have one of those feelings._ "

Garrus nodded. He knew which feeling all too well. It was making his mandibles itch.

" _No clue what the geth want_ ," Tavia continued via radio, her hologram bobbing along at his shoulder. " _Though Dr. Chakwas says keep your breathers on. Apparently quite a bit of that 'dust' where you are isn't dust at all: it's actually spores and she's not sure she wants them gumming up your lungs,_ " Tavia sighed, shaking her head. " _They don't match anything in the enviro-haz database. Still… I don't see why they're here. No apparent source._ "

Standard line for doctors everywhere: try not to bring the planet back with you. "Reasonable," Garrus agreed. There were places in the galaxy called 'hotspots for athlete's lung' which he understood to be a kind of respiratory trench foot. It had surprised him to discover that humans and turians both had an ailment by that name… and that the ailments were remarkably similar in contraction, symptoms, and treatment.

In the case of Feros, the atmosphere was dry with lots of dust and high winds. The whole place was drab and grey, the ramshackle colony built among a particularly sheltered section of ruins. It made him think of a fly crawling on a desiccated corpse.

" _ExoGeni, whose headquarters you're heading to, funds this colony. Most of the colonists work for them directly. You can get to the building via a structure called the Skyway—don't fall off it, though. You'll get bored before you hit bottom._ "

Nice.

" _The geth are there in force, so I'll be taking the Normandy to clear a path ahead for you. If we attract one of those big dropships, we'll have to vanish and come back._ "

"Unless that takes a few hours, it won't affect the mission too much. I can lead without your voice inside my head," Garrus answered.

" _It's why I'm willing to use the Normandy to soften up resistance at all. I wouldn't leave my marines in the hands of someone I didn't think capable._ "

"And what am I?" Wrex asked. "Pyjak liver?"

" _Self-sufficient, of course,_ " Tavia answered, turning her hologram to look at him.

Garrus smiled at this. Wrex might give him grief, but Wrex and Tavia worked much smoothly—at least, the antagonism the krogan displayed to everyone was much less antagonistic to her than it was towards him. Part of him wondered what would happen if that rapport was tested, but for now he was content to put faith in it as long as Tavia did.

" _I don't know what the geth are looking for, only that they're swarming ExoGeni to find it. Tali's been working on a program that will let us get accurate headcounts before you have to count them yourselves, but it's still a work in progress._ "

"That'll make life easier, Tali. Thanks," Garrus noted.

" _You're welcome, Spectre,_ "Tali answered, breaking the silence under which she usually operated. He could only guess Tavia indicated she could and should answer. Tavia gave the impression of not liking lots of voices on her end, since she had lots of voices streaming to her from the other.

Garrus was glad for this kind of radio discipline: more voices in his head would be distracting.

" _Let me know when you're ready to make your run and I'll have Joker take us out._ "

Garrus considered for a moment, then nodded. "We're ready. We'll be fifteen seconds behind you, just to be safe. That's standard for these maneuvers in the turian military."

" _That's fine. Give the geth plenty of time to decide they really are dead. I'll let you know if I have to break off the radio._ "

The ground team piled back into the Mako.

Seconds later, the Normandy swooped ahead, guns blazing.

"Aren't they worried about blasting the hell out of the Skyway?" Ashley asked nervously as Kaidan's omnitool beeped the fifteen second mark.

"They won't use the Normandy's heavy weapons—just the light stuff," Kaidan answered.

Garrus: Weigh Station

Garrus felt uneasy without Tavia's incorporeal presence. Sure enough, the Normandy had drawn unwanted attention, at which point the ship—and his mission coordinator—had peeled off to get good and lost before they could come ghosting back in.

Now, he had this squeaky, panicky human whose weasel face he didn't like to deal with.

"I'm Garrus Vakarian, Council Spectre," Garrus answered. "Supplemented by the Alliance Navy."

Kaidan and Ashley both nodded. He suspected Ashley might have waved sardonically if she hadn't had her rifle at the ready.

"We're here about the geth problem," he concluded.

"See?" the woman identified as Juliana asked, frowning at her suspicious-and-trigger-happy-because-he-was-nervous comrade.

"And you trust to easily, Juliana," Jeong snarled.

Was it just him or did Jeong seem _more_ nervous at the invocation of 'Council Spectre'?

"You know, you might want to consider putting that gun down. You're twitchy and it makes us nervous and that makes for a _bad_ combination," Garrus rumbled. He waved Kaidan, Wrex, and Ashley to lower their weapons, but kept his trained on Jeong until the man complied with the 'suggestion.'

"We've cleared the Skyway behind us. You should pack up," Garrus indicated the rovers at the far end of the garage, "and get down to the colony. Safety's in numbers and they're better fortified than you are here."

Juliana's eyes snapped to Jeong. "I thought you said they were all dead?" she accused, her mouth becoming a thin line.

Garrus rolled his eyes. He hated corporate rats. It was one reason he never wanted to work in the white collar division.

"I said they were _probably_ all dead," Jeong corrected, his eyes darting around.

"Well, they're not," Garrus said flatly. "And they're not going to." The geth were the primary problem for the beleaguered colony, but there were several more as well that the Normandy and her crew could do something about… could and would, once the geth problem was solved.

A soft sputter on his radio indicated Tavia was back.

"Go ahead," he prompted, holding up a finger.

Tavia's drone whirled to life, projecting her appearance. He wondered how long she'd been listening before making herself known to him. " _Sorry about the interruption, Spectre Vakarian_. _We're back in-system and I'm ready to return to my duties._ "

"Don't worry about it."

"Good to see you, Skipper," Ashley sighed with relief.

" _Joker would be embarrassed if the geth shot his ass down_ ," Tavia almost purred, a smug smile playing across her mouth.

"This is my mission coordinator, Commander Tavia Shepard. Tavia, Jeong and Juliana, ExoGeni."

" _Pleasure to meet you both_." Tavia pulled her hologram back and a moment later was on a private channel. " _Jeong, Ethan—get this, head of biotech development, also the guy in charge overall. Baynham, Juliana, she's his number two but in a different department; she had a daughter at this posting. I've got an employee list from ExoGeni—put in the request before we hit the relay to start the trip here. They were worried about their personnel. They were also explicit that we shouldn't poke around. Tali found blueprints for the building and pulled them down. Don't ask how._ "

She thought of just about everything. And to think there was a time when they didn't work smoothly.

"Any situational changes, Commander?" Garrus asked.

Tavia switched back to the speakers on her drone. " _None. The geth are still packed up in that tower and I don't think the Normandy can just clear a path this time._ "

"Heavy resistance?" Kaidan asked.

" _No, nothing like that. It's just they'll chase us and be paranoid if we make a bigger nuisance of ourselves. Joker might be embarrassed to be shot down by geth but they'd be embarrassed if they couldn't slap us like a mosquito given a second chance at it._ "

While Tavia spoke, Jeong's complexion went pasty. "Hey, hey, hey! That building is _private property_ , soldier—you remove the geth and _nothing else_!" he pointed aggressively at Tavia, who looked down her nose at his pointing finger.

" _If I were corporeal, I'd bite that thing off,_ " she noted blandly. " _Just saying._ "

"Please do not shout at my mission coordinator," Garrus declared delicately, trying not to grin as Jeong hastily retracted the finger. "I call the plays, she makes them happen. So if you have anything to say you might want to say, say it to me."

Tavia crossed her arms and nodded.

Spectre trumped 'private property' in an emergency, which this clearly was.

Jeong looked as though someone had just stepped on him. Clearly he was used to pushing people around and getting the desired results when he did it.

"How's resistance between there and here?" Garrus asked, looking pointedly away from Jeong to study Tavia's hologram.

" _Heavier than I'd like to see, but it's nothing the Mako can't handle if you put Ashley on the gun._ "

"Thanks, Skipper," Ashley grinned varren-ishly.

" _Other than that, I can't see a reason not to advance to the next stage of the operation._ "

Garrus nodded at this, glad of the excuse to get away from Jeong's jumpy irritability. It was beginning to make _him_ feel irritable. "All right. Let's pack up."

Tavia: A Mother

" _Excuse me, Commander?_ "

Tavia turned her visual frame to find Juliana peering nervously at her. "Yes, Ms. Baynham?"

" _I, ah, wasn't sure I ought to ask the Spectre but…_ _my daughter is up at the head—_ "

" _Maybe_ _,_ "Jeong interrupted, swooping down on the conversation like a pyjak on unexpected food. " _She's probably dead already_ —"

" _Don't_ _say_ _that_!" Juliana looked ready to haul off and smack Jeong silly. 

"Mr. Jeong, you might not want to antagonize a worried mother. It never ends well," Tavia suggested, knowing how condescending it would sound and not really caring.

Jeong was a weaselish little freak and the fact that he was so concerned over company property and company secrets, that he was so willing to write people off as being dead so quickly, rubbed her the wrong way.

He gave her a nasty look.

She gave him one back with interest.

"This unit goes with my Spectre. I'll ensure that he knows about your daughter." She would have assured as much under normal circumstances, but watching Jeong being rubbed the wrong way was good for her soul. When she had to deal with corporate flunkies she was not usually in a position to do it. They were paying clients, after all.

" _Thank you, Commander,_ " Juliana sighed, looking marginally relieved.

" _What's up there, Tavia?_ " Garrus rumbled as soon as she turned her projection away from Juliana.

She continued panning the drone until she found Garrus, who seemed to be making an effort not to show he was observing the conversation.

"Juliana thinks her daughter is still alive up there," Tavia answered. "She was asking me to look for her since she was a bit nervous of asking you. Not exactly galaxy-shaking business, finding a missing person in a place like this."

Garrus nodded, then glowered over his shoulder. " _What else do you know about this Jeong guy?_ " he asked softly.

"Pretty much what I told you. I do find it puzzling that he's so concerned with company secrets and not at all with employees' lives. Companies pay out to families over situations like this—and those payouts can be quite substantial, especially if it's found that the company failed to do something or other even after the initial event." It puzzled her, and left her increasingly certain they would not like something found at the ExoGeni headquarters.

" _I was thinking about that, too. You said he was biotech. Questionable research?_ "

"I don't know. Feros has little strategic value, almost no economic value—the Prothean ruins here have been picked over so many times…" Tavia mused. "There's nothing here, really, to justify a colony at all. And yet…" she waved indicatively. "…here it is."

" _Colony and major company headquarters. And biotech—have I told you how much I_ _hate_ _biotech guys?_ " Garrus asked.

"No, but it sounds like personal experience."

" _It was. Ask me later. Maybe._ "

"Ask you later, definitely. This isn't the place to go down bad memory lane," Tavia agreed.

Conversation suspended as the group climbed into the Mako and Tavia deactivated her drone, partly to save power, partly so her hologram didn't end up sitting 'through' someone. It was odd how unwilling people were to occupy the space a hologram was seen to occupy, as if it had mass or cared about image disruption.

"How long have you been working with Spectre Vakarian?" Dr. T'Soni asked.

"Not that long," Tavia answered absently, watching the armor-mounted cameras jiggle as the Mako negotiated the terrain. "A few weeks."

" _Really_?" Dr. T'Soni's eyes, when Tavia glanced over at her, were large in her face. "I just… you two seem to work so well together. Like a well-oiled machine."

"Our skill sets are complimentary," Tavia shrugged, wondering if this was true. Once he stopped 'playing spook' she found Garrus remarkably easy to work with. It surprised her, since he had the harder job of trusting the voice in his head, something with which he couldn't interact and which couldn't interact with him.

Nevertheless, she felt they got great results with a minimum of friction. And, by this point, she could admit to genuinely liking the somewhat brash crusader. She wouldn't call him an idealist, but he was definitely no cynic. Maybe they worked well because they tempered one another's flaws. Or excesses.

"Very," Dr. T'Soni agreed.

"Tavia, weather-sat says the winds are picking up. Garrus and the others will want to be off the Skyway until it passes," Tali relayed. "Estimations are… an hour at the least until the winds die down."

"Think that'll slow up the geth?" Tavia asked.

"Maybe the ones on the Skyway, laws of physics being what they are. With the ground team shooting everything that clanks and the amount of particulate matter in the air coupled with high winds…" the quarian shrugged as though the gesture finished the sentence perfectly.

"Garrus, it the geth don't bunker down where they are and trust their outer ablative coatings to protect them from wind-borne matter, they may come back to the headquarters building. Prepare for the possibility of being swarmed."

" _Got it. Thanks for the heads-up._ "


	14. Chapter 14

Garrus: Cop Hat

" _Garrus, you've got a civilian up ahead. Vitals say she's significantly stressed. She's also armed._ "

Which was never a good combination. He'd seen it too often to want to just walk into it, shields or no shields, and was glad for Tavia's incorporeal presence. Civilians—especially panicky ones—tended to be pretty poor marksmen. They might hit a person but not something the size of Tavia's drone. "Talk to her. Use an open channel."

" _Will do._ "

Up ahead, Tavia's hologram manifested. Several shots rang out accompanied by a curse in a squeaky, high-pitched voice. "Oh, damn it!"

" _I'm Commander Shepard of the SSV Normandy, representing Spectre Vakarian so you don't shoot his mandibles off._ " Tavia declared calmly.

Ashley snickered at this, and Garrus felt himself grinning wryly. Yes, it would be best for his mandibles to stay where they were. He had good-looking mandibles.

"Oh… I'm sorry!" the voice squeaked again. "I thought… I thought you were geth…"

Garrus and Ashley both snorted at this. What part of Tavia-hologram or drone—looked geth? They didn't have a geth silhouette, after all.

" _Completely understandable. Now, please, put the gun down. The marines with him get twitchy when nervous people wave pistols around. You understand._ "

"Oh… oh, yeah. Right. Here-here you go."

" _No hands, remember?_ _Just put it down. It's going to be okay, Miss..?_ "

"Baynham. Lizbeth Baynham."

" _Juliana's daughter?_ "

"Yes! I—do you know my mother? Is she alright?"

" _She's fine. It's safe!_ "

Garrus came around the corner to see a young woman in a lab tech's suit standing some feet back from a pistol on the ground. Tavia stood beside her, a holographic hand appearing to rest on the girl's shoulder. " _Ms. Baynham? This is Spectre Vakarian. Spectre Vakarian, Juliana's daughter._ "

"Your mother's been worried about you." It was a clichéd C-Sec thing to say, but it coaxed a little relief into the girl's face.

"It's good to know she's alive." From the way she studied him, Garrus concluded she hadn't met many turians.

"If I may ask, why are you still up here? Everyone else seems to be at the weigh station or the colony. Did they forget you?" He knew better—not with a mother like Juliana seemed to be. Lizbeth had, for whatever reason, stayed put.

" _She's on the register as part of biotech. Like Jeong,_ " Tavia noted on a private channel.

These biotech creeps. It brought back the sour flavor of Dr. Saleon and his escape. He could still hear himself: _Shoot him! Shoot him down_ _now_ _!_

"Oh… it's my own fault," Lizbeth sighed, running a hand through her hair and beginning to pace agitatedly, wringing her hands. "Everyone else was running and I stayed to back up data."

" _Do you believe that?_ " Tavia continued on the private channel.

Garrus shook his head discreetly.

" _Neither do I. Most companies have an auto-backup—even mine does—that goes into effect when certain criteria are met. Just in case of evacuation or a catastrophic whatever so employees_ _don't_ _do stupid things like risk their lives over data. Most places value their employees' lives enough to have an auto-backup._ "

That sounded about right.

" _This is starting to really stink, Garrus. Watch your step so you don't track it all over the ship,_ " a disgruntled Tavia huffed.

"Next thing I knew, the geth ship latched on and the power went out…" Lizbeth wouldn't look him in the eyes. She did when she stopped speaking, though. He had had enough experience with people lying to him to recognize an edited version of the truth.

"And you've been trapped her ever since," Garrus finished, applying all soothing tones he could. "I understand. Listen, Lizbeth—may I call you Lizbeth?"

"Yeah, sure…" she glanced at Tavia, who still maintained the appearance of a hand on the girl's shoulder. He wondered, suddenly but not quite irrelevantly, how Tavia managed to chat over the private channel while her hologram showed no signs of secondary conversation.

"I need to know why the geth are here."

"I don't… know," Lizbeth answered, her expression twisting.

" _I know he looks intimidating but, believe me, you can trust him,_ " Tavia said soothingly.

"Listen, Lizbeth," he held out a clawed hand which, hesitantly, Lizbeth took. He enveloped it in both his own, and Lizbeth looked down to study the complex crisscross of fingers—human and turian, five-fingered and three-fingered, armored and unarmored. "I'm here to help. Your mother and the other ExoGeni employees are trapped—until I can do something about the geth, I can't get them out." Given her agitation, a hint of a guilt-trip might be all he needed. "The colony is pinned down, too. If you know anything, you need to tell me right now. For everyone's sake."

Lizbeth's jaw worked and she looked ready to cry—understandable given the stress. Color flooded her face in blotchy red patches, then her eyes began to turn red as more blood suffused the circulatory system there. It was always strange to watch color changes in humans. Asari could, but it was never so pronounced.

"It's okay," he continued gently, ducking his head and stooping his shoulders so he could peer into her face without looking down at her from such a height advantage. "You can talk to me." 

She looked away from their joined hands to the floor, like a guilty child. "The geth are here about the Thorian," she said miserably, almost inaudibly.

"Thorian?" Garrus asked, cocking his head. He had to tamp down the eager interest in his tone—this must be what Jeong was so eager to hide.

"It's an indigenous life-form. ExoGeni was here to study it," Lizbeth continued to mumble almost shamefacedly.

" _Garrus. Dr. Chakwas said that the air printout Kaidan forwarded was full of spores. Spores on a world with no appreciable amounts of vegetation,_ " Tavia announced quickly over the private channel.

That didn't sound good.

"This Thorian is a plant, right?" he asked.

"How… did you know?" Lizbeth quavered, looking up and actually taking a step back.

"Because one of the first things we did when we saw how strangely the colonists were behaving was to run an air analysis. It came back hot for spores. We just didn't know where they were coming from," Garrus parroted back.

Lizbeth nodded. "But we can't—we can't just leave the geth crawling all over this place… can we?"

"We're here to clear the geth presence, first and foremost," Garrus answered evenly. "Tavia—what's the air traffic look like?"

When Tavia spoke, it was through the drone. " _I've got two big ships—the one that was chasing us is still orbiting and then you've got the one latched into the side of the building. Let me talk to Joker for a moment and see what he thinks about all this._ "

"Go ahead and do that," Garrus agreed.

"I think the ship that's, er, docked with the building, might be powering the energy barriers," Lizbeth fumbled for an appropriate description of the ship perched like a parasite on one of the outer walls.

Energy barriers and a field that blocked most communications. Tavia made it clear that standard transmissions would have been completely blocked, but the specialized equipment her company used did not share all the same limitations.

He would bet cash that this resulted from tinkering on her part, tech specialist that she was. She could probably build a geth countermeasure out of a can-opener, a battery, and some copper wire. Or something like that.

"I don't know if you came up against any, but they're all through here. They're using it to lock the building down," Lizbeth offered.

"We ran into a couple," Ashley said, nodding. "Wondered what they were for."

"Now we know," Kaidan shook his head, rubbing his neck as he did so.

"Kaidan, I'm going to make you responsible for Ms. Baynham," Garrus said, taking her by the hand and walking her over to Kaidan. "We can't just leave her here and I don't want to leave her with the Mako in case the geth come have a look at it."

Kaidan, so Garrus understood, had a smile that could charm birds out of their nests, and it seemed to work instantly on Lizbeth.

"Heya, Lizbeth," Kaidan said, smiling at her and holding out a hand. "I'm Kaidan. You probably figured that out." He did not wait before tapping the girl's omnitool into their channel so she would not miss anything over the radios.

Sure enough, Lizbeth seemed quite glad of the excuse to go stand beside him and, unless Garrus was much mistaken, was stealing glances from underneath her eyelashes. Well, it was a stressful situation and she wasn't trained for it; he hoped she enjoyed the view.

He caught Kaidan's eyes and the human shrugged.

" _Garrus. Talked to Joker. He says that scans indicate that the ship anchored to the building is inert—power diverted. No hotspots._ "

"That supports Lizbeth's theory about it powering these barriers. What else?"

" _Normandy's a stealth ship, but she's still got enough firepower to be good in a scrap. We might be able to take down the one up here with us if we ambush it and hold our mouths just right."_ He'd never understood that particular humanism, but the asari seemed to. It was probably a 'we have lips' thing. " _But I don't want to do that unless the one where you are is down too._ "

"Talk with Joker, see if you can't come up with something a little more concrete. I don't like the idea of cavalier flying and 'maybes' pit against a ship that big," Garrus answered. "And I really don't like relying on a trait like having lips to ensure good luck."

Tavia chuckled. " _Fair enough. Working on it. Meanwhile, see what you can do about getting Tali and I a spike into the ExoGeni system—they've got a full lockdown so nothing happens without…_ "

Garrus frowned. He considered himself a fairly tech savvy person but Tavia's explanation made no sense. And not enough of it made sense for him to full in the blanks. "Wanna run that by me again? In something a little less… whatever that was?"

"… _to be succinct, a physical anchor into the system, allowing me remote access. Knowledge is power, right?_ "

"That's what they told us in school," Garrus answered with a wry grin.

" _Lizbeth wants your attention. Turn around_." 

Garrus turned and affected a little surprise—to avoid giving the 'eyes in the back of his head' impression, which was creepy to the stressed mind—at finding Lizbeth, with Kaidan still protectively at her shoulder, looking up at him as if unsure how to get his attention without startling or annoying him. She seemed _very_ young. Then again, this was a very unusual situation. From what he could tell, Kaidan had coaxed her into speaking up, for he moved a hand to her shoulder and patted it gently.

"Here. It's my company ID," Lizbeth said, holding out the card but not moving away from Kaidan. "It'll let you into the systems, get you through doors, that sort of thing. Easier if you have it, since Kaidan says I'm to stay back, away from the fighting."

"He's right. Back is best," Garrus agreed, taking the card from her. "Thank you for this."

" _Nice_ _._ _Less hacking and techspeak on my end. She's a nice kid,_ "Tavia approved dryly over the private channel.

Tavia: Data and Tech

" _No_ _I don't want to review protocol!_ " the krogan almost howled in frustration, bashing the terminal with his shotgun.

"Hang on a second, Garrus. I want to get a recording of this," Tavia grinned. Even with such a serious situation, watching a krogan lose it over a computer program was priceless… and would be hilarious later.

" _Wow. And here I thought you were all for abolishing stereotypes among different species,_ "Garrus teased.

" _If we kill this guy, she will be,_ " Wrex grunted.

" _I am unable to comply. Please contact your supervisor,_ " the VI returned unperturbed by the krogan's tantrum.

" _Dammit! Tell me what I want to know!_ "Bang! The krogan kicked the display pedestal. " _Or I'll turn your virtual ass—_ "Bang! "— _into actual_ _dust_ _!_ "

" _Please contact your supervisor for a level four security exemption or make an appointment—_ "

" _Stupid machine!_ " Bang-bang-bang!

" _Great plan_ ," Wrex sneered, " _hit it if it won't work_."

" _Works on the Mako_ ," Kaidan noted.

"Go get him, Wrex. Nice and fast," Tavia instructed.

" _Urdnot Wrex, the mighty krogan battering ram_." But he obeyed, which meant he was joking, however grumpy he sounded.

She didn't blame them for being grumpy; the geth were fortified, though not in the numbers she and Tali had feared given the size of the ships. They were tough though, as if they expected to see combat and opted to rely on sturdiness of units rather than strength of numbers.

Tavia moved her drone closer to the terminal as Wrex barreled into the other krogan. The nameless krogan was so surprised by the arrival that Wrex finished him before the krogan could mount any kind of defense of his life.

" _ExoGeni would like to remind all staff that the discharge of firearms on company property is strictly forbidden_ ," the VI announced.

Tavia did not need to prompt Garrus, who inserted Lizbeth's ID into the slot and established a connection to the terminal for her. Apparently the keycard served as 'anchor' enough.

"Ahh-hahaha," Tavia breathed. "Want to play with some data, Tali?"

"I would _love_ to play with some data, Tavia. It's so boring watching everyone's heartrate," the quarian answered smugly as Tavia opened a feed with full clearances for Tali.

"See what you can find about this Thorian," Tavia directed.

"Already on it."

"What can I do?" Dr. T'Soni asked. She'd been so quiet that Tavia had almost forgotten she was there.

"Just stand by. I think we're covered for now." Then, to the terminal, "VI. What was the last user trying to access?"

" _Fetching data. The previous user was attempting to access details on the study of Subject Species Thirty-Seven, the Thorian._ "

" _Makes sense,_ " Garrus rumbled. " _It's the only thing of interest on this rock._ "

" _It_ _doesn't_ _make sense,_ " Ashley shook her head. " _Who cares about a giant plant? It'd have to be ridiculously special and I'm not seeing that._ "

"Tavia! The Thorian isn't just a plant—it's a plant _right under_ the colony!" Tali gasped, sounding utterly appalled. "It's not really a _colony_ even, it'san _observation post_! They rigged the colony for monitoring and then let people _live_ there! So they could 'see what would happen.'"

Ashley's response to this news was a creative string of profanity even Tavia had never heard before.

"That's barbaric!" Dr. T'Soni yelped, prompting several people to nod in agreement.

Jeong's jumpiness now made sense: if it was to get out that Zhu's Hope was more like petri dish than anything else… the fallout would be nearly incalculable. Naturally, she thought darkly, they'd have to find a way to leak it. "What else?" Tavia asked, trying not to sigh. Given the situation, it did not exactly surprise her to find that the Thorian's physical presence was under the colony. It seemed somehow… predictable.

"Tali, do you have anything else?" Tavia prompted after a few moments of attentive listening from the ground team.

"Hang on… it's a plant that exhibits sentient behavior," Tali answered, moving through the data as quickly as she could without sacrificing accuracy or skipping pertinent information.

"A _thinking_ plant?" Dr. T'Soni asked excitedly.

Tavia waved her down.

"It uses spores to… _Keelah_!"

" _What?!_ " half a dozen edgy voices on both sides of the radio link demanded.

" _Quit playing with my nerves, ladies,_ " Garrus growled warningly.

"Sorry, Spectre. It's just… the spores it produced allows the Thorian to infect and control other organisms—humans inclusive," Tali finished. "Eighty-seven percent infection status when the sensors cut out, just after the geth arrived. It's probably one hundred percent by now."

" _Sons of bitches,_ "Ashley growled.

" _Oh, for the love of—_ " Kaidan broke off, shaking his head irritably.

Tavia wondered if this didn't touch his history with Jump Zero a little—a scientific project with no regard for human life as long as advances were made, using unwitting test subjects to do it.

"Garrus, whatever you do, don't snap at Lizbeth," Tavia said quickly over the private channel as Garrus growled to himself.

" _What do you want me to do, Tavia? It_ _would_ _have been helpful to know earlier,_ " he answered snappishly.

"It would have been _interesting_ to know earlier but earlier you were fighting your way through geth and you're not done yet. Worry about the Thorian once you and the team get back to the weigh station with Ms. Baynham. See if she fesses up willingly before you get upset… more upset." Anything else would be counter-productive. She was sure that deep down Garrus was already aware of this.

The turian growled again, but nodded sharply.

" _What's the matter?_ "Lizbeth asked worriedly.

" _Tavia and Tali are running the data in the banks here,_ " came Garrus' rather short answer.

Everyone ignored Lizbeth's gasp.

" _They're parsing together what could be so interesting that the geth want this building. Speaking of which, any ideas about what to do about those ships?_ "

"Joker still thinks an ambush and some acrobatics will be enough," Tavia answered. "He's running analyses on the structure to see if he can't find a chink somewhere."

" _I don't want the Normandy raining down around me in blazing glory, Tavia._ "

"Doesn't appeal to me, either."

" _Commander?_ " Joker asked over the shipboard comm.

"Hang on, Garrus. Yes, Joker?"

" _Got a read. It's a precision attack, but I can do it. I don't_ _want_ _to, but you give the word and I can make this happen._ "

"Thanks Joker. Garrus? Joker says he can kill that thing whenever you're ready. I'd suggest finding a way to bring your bug down first. We'll hit the other one while it's still wondering what's going on," Tavia declared.

" _Reasonable. I've got an idea, but it may not go anywhere. The geth ship is anchored by these weird claws. If we can find a way to disengage it…_ "

" _That might work,_ " Kaidan put in. " _I don't think we can just pry them out, though._ "

" _That'd take a hell of a crowbar,_ " Ashley chuckled, shaking her head.

"… _as plans go,_ _it's a work in progress,_ " Garrus shrugged. " _But I think we can rule out crowbars._ "

Garrus: Interrim

"Tavia, we're clear on our end, how about yours?" Garrus announced.

"…"

Garrus waited until he thought he would crawl out of his skin.

Suddenly, Tavia's hologram 'woke up' " _Sorry about that. Joker nailed it. We have a problem, though. The colony is mobilizing, all sorts of activity and it started when we blew the geth ship—that would have been visible from the ground_. _If I had to guess, I think they might be protecting the colony or, more accurately, the Thorian. A presumably sessile plant would need protection if something bad were to happen—I think big explosions count._ "

"Or they're assuming we know about it," Garrus responded. "I think we could be considered something bad."

" _Or that. Or both._ "

Sentient space plants. And space zombies. Feros really was a dumping ground for cheap old sci-fi movie tropes.

"Let's go have a few words with some people," Garrus growled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The group remained silent as they returned to the Mako, Garrus thinking hard. "If the colonists are… can I call them thralls?"

" _I would._ "

"…thralls, is there a way to subdue them without killing them?" That was important. This wasn't these people's fault.

" _If I understand anything about biotics, Liara and Kaidan might be able to knock them down so they can't get back up. I wouldn't want to send Liara in though, even if it was a pincer maneuver._ "

"That's not a solution for a widespread problem," Kaidan put in as soon as Garrus glanced at him. "I might be able to take down one or two, but they'd get back up as soon as I took them out of stasis. Throw them too hard and they could be killed impacting on the nearest solid surface; if you don't throw them hard enough they just get back up bruised and angry."

" _Your lieutenant is quite correct,_ "Dr. T'Soni's voice murmured over the radio link.

" _Okay…_ "

Garrus could hear Tavia thinking, the brisk tick-tick-tick of gears, cogs, and wheels.

"Or maybe we could ask the scientists what their plan was. They had to have a plan to neutralize—or subdue—" Ashley quickly changed the wording she planned to use when she got _looks_ , "—the _colonists_. Any smart person would have a way to stop something that went wrong."

It was Lizbeth's turn to receive interrogatory looks. "I just know there was one," she answered. She bit her lip and hissed as the Mako struck an obstacle she couldn't see. "I don't know anything about it."

"Stop the rover," Garrus snapped, shifting in his seat to glare at Lizbeth as only a turian could. At this point, it was less that he hoped to get new information and more to confirm the information he heard. "I may have been born at night but I was not born last night. I do want to help you, Lizbeth, but you're going to have to level with me. Otherwise," he pointed across Kaidan to the driver's-side window. "You can start walking. Now, tell me everything you know about the Thorian. We know it's a plant, we know it's under Zhu's Hope and I know Tavia and Tali haven't hit the meat of the subject."

She shifted uncomfortably. "I was afraid," she protested. "I wanted to stop the tests but they threatened me—told me I'd be next!"

Ashley made a distasteful nose through her nose and scooted away from Lizbeth as best she could, as if she thought she might be contaminated by the girl, while Wrex simply grunted. Even Kaidan's projected concern dried up to disapproval.

Lizbeth glared at them. "You found me there because, when the geth attacked, I stayed behind to send a message to Colonial Affairs. I tried to tell them where to find the Thorian, but the power cut out before I could send the message." Then, catching Ashley's expression, "I did _try_ to make this right! I never… I never meant for this to happen," she finished lamely.

"Science never does," Garrus agreed, his personal opinion a hundred an eighty degrees from what could be read into his words. It was the lesson of the Genophage (depending on who you asked): scientists never wanted to believe the military could use a 'great creation' for wartime purposes. And then the military proved it certainly could… and would. The salarians would always say 'we didn't think anyone would _use_ it!' and the turians would always say 'we did it—and would do it again. It had to be done.'

"Bullshit," Wrex grunted. "Scientists know these things eventually get to the wrong hands and those hands _use it_. Isn't that the _turian_ line?"

Ouch. Being on the same brainwave with a krogan was… uncomfortable.

" _Wrex, we are_ _not_ _rehashing that_ _now_ _,_ " Tavia broke in firmly. " _The_ _point_ _is that we know the Thorian is somewhere under Zhu's Hope. Where, exactly?_ "

"Security footage during the initial phases of the attack showed that they covered the entrance with the freighter before the geth started attacking them," Lizbeth admitted. Then, when she glanced to Kaidan for support and found only disproval and something like disappointment (Garrus was sure Kaidan had been a drama nerd in school) Lizbeth continued. "There were… visitors… before the attack. A turian and some asari… and a unit of commandoes for support, I guess…"

"Saren. Maybe Benezia?" Garrus asked.

"I don't know names," Lizbeth said lamely, mistaking the question as being directed at her.

" _Possibly. I'll see if we can find any security footage. Tali, go._ "

" _On it!_ " the quarian answered enthusiastically. " _I'm still linked into the ExoGeni database. Don't worry, I can fry the uplink remotely. It'll be like we were never here._ "

Garrus didn't doubt Tali and Tavia (or either one of them individually) could do it. Tavia wouldn't dream of leaving an open line open once the mission was concluded and, if she couldn't do it remotely, she'd have given instruction on how to disengage the uplink. Still, no harm in letting Tali share the load. Tavia managed a lot of information at any given moment. He was sure it would boggle his mind if he ever learned just how much.

"Why are the geth after the Thorian? What could Saren—or anyone—want with it?" Garrus pressed.

Lizbeth squirmed; Garrus re-indicated the window with a glance. "The reason the Thorian is so interesting is because it can use its spores to control the minds of its… thralls. _That_ was what ExoGeni was interested in."

"Mind control," Ashley sneered in distaste. "Because _that_ never goes wrong."

"I _said_ I was sorry!" Lizbeth snarled back, red patches forming on her cheeks.

"No, you _said_ you never meant it to happen," Ashley retorted. "That's not the same thing—and even if it was, no one here wants a character reference."

" _Ashley. Dial back_ ," Tavia broke in. " _It's not helping._ "

"Aye-aye, Skipper," Ashley answered sullenly, crossing her arms and refusing to look at Lizbeth. 

"I do want to help," Lizbeth appealed to Garrus. "Undo the mess I helped create."

"We'll see what happens," Garrus answered, wishing that the human could hear the reassuring undertones of his subvocal harmonics. "In the meantime—Tavia, if we can't come up with a solution—" He didn't like the idea, but recognized what might become necessity.

Fortunately, Tavia was nothing if not pragmatic. He attributed part of it to being removed from the action, less affected by emotions and allowed a certain degree of disconnect from the events—more like paying a video game than maneuvering real people.

On second thought, he wasn't sure he found that reassuring at all.

" _I understand. But I still want to understand what Saren wanted here. With the geth presence decreased like it is, we have time to think. Things don't have to happen all at once. Stop by the weigh station. It's as good a base camp as we can get._ "

"Sounds good," Garrus agreed.

" _Watch out for that weasel, Jeong. He's the type who does stupid things._ _Especially_ _if he finds out you know something about the Thorian_. _And we know more than a little 'something.'_ "

Garrus chuckled humorlessly at this. "I had that vibe, but thanks for making it official."

" _That's why I'm here_. _Garrus, I want to put in at the docks near the colony, see what happens._ "

"That's a bad idea," Kaidan put in to Garrus, shaking his head. "It might agitate the colonists."

" _What can they do to the hull? I simply want to see how they react. And if they're freaking out about the_ _Normandy's presence they may not be paying attention to your end._ "

"Reasonable," Garrus answered. "But I'm with Kaidan, to an extent. Can you hold off on this experiment of yours until we have a better plan?"

" _Ambush. Sounds good. I'll wait for your okay._ "

Garrus nodded, then realized how reflexive relying on Tavia and discussing ways and means had become—particularly since that dry-run mission. He even began to suspect he would miss having her voice inside his head. What might it take to lure her away from her current line of work in order to stay a Spectre's mission coordinator?

Tavia: Incorporeal

Tavia did not activate her hologram as the drone took flight again. Discretion was the better part of good situational sense.

"Does this ship have riot control measures stashed somewhere?" she asked Dr. Chakwas, who had been called in to serve as a medical opinion.

"It might, but I wouldn't use it: you don't know how the chemicals—harsh to begin with—would react if the Thorian has altered their biochemistry or physiology," the doctor answered from the chair she had settled in. Apparently she was 'too old to sprawl on the floor like kids at Christmas.'

Beyond the range of clear audibility came raised human voices, clearly part of an ongoing argument.

"Hm." Tavia blinked, looking back to her screens. "Go in easy, Garrus, just in—" she did not voice her mental 'uh-oh,' but she mouthed it.

" _That's my mom_ ," Lizbeth breathed.

" _Steady_ ," Garrus warned, grabbing the girl's arm so she didn't go charging off. " _Be cool._ "

"Keep your heads down, everyone," Tavia growled as the unit moved forward. She guided her drone in closer. As long as no one noticed it, she could broadcast the conversation back to the others through the radio link.

" _You can't_ _do_ _this, Jeong!_ " Juliana snarled, unwilling to come too close to Jeong but unwilling to simply sit back and accept whatever the man had done or was planning to do.

Not for the first time, Tavia wished she had something on the drone—a gun or riot measures or _something_ that would let her slip in and do something constructive.

Jeong had clearly reached his saturation point, gun in hand. " _Everyone just-just shut up! Let me think!_ " Jeong answered back, voice high pitched.

" _He's waving that thing around like he's at a carnival,_ "Kaidan noted. " _Like this he'll miss the broad side of a barn and hit one of us._ "

" _Can you stop him?_ " Garrus asked. He unshouldered his sniper rifle, unfolding it calmly.

" _Not at this range,_ "Kaidan answered.

" _You'll never get away with this_!" Juliana snarled.

" _Get her out of here!_ " Jeong barked as two security gorillas, both marked ExoGeni, moved to detain Juliana.

" _Get your hands off of her!_ " Lizbeth screeched, springing out of cover.

It happened in a flash. Tavia never even finished her mental 'oh, shit' before she lost control of the situation.

Jeong heard the noise and saw the movement. Stressed as he was, he did the most predictable thing: he sent bullets downrange at the source of stimulus.

Lizbeth screamed as one of the bullets hit her, the other successfully blocked by a biotic field from Kaidan. Apparently it had taken him precious seconds to get a line on her.

Garrus, a split second behind Jeong, unloaded one round which struck the man in the head, preventing any further rounds Jeong might have unleashed—much to the agitation of everyone around Jeong.

"Ash!" Tavia could not quite keep the edge out of her tone.

Ashley was on her feet and moving before the sound of Garrus' rifle finished echoing. " _This is Ashley Williams, Alliance Navy! Put the guns_ _down_ _!_ _Right now_ _!_ "

Faced with a soldier, backed by a turian with an impressive-looking rifle, any remaining weapons were set down, empty hands raised.

" _Lizbeth!_ " Juliana screamed, rushing up to her daughter.

" _Why can't you people just stand the hell still?_ _What is so damn_ _hard_ _about that?_ " Ashley grated out.

What indeed.

"Kaidan—get Lizbeth," Tavia instructed, toggling her hologram and drone. "What set him off?" Tavia directed herself to Juliana.

" _Communications went back up,_ " Juliana answered, from where she knelt by her daughter.

" _She's going to be fine,_ " Kaidan declared simply, as he soothed the panicky, pained Lizbeth before producing a tube of medigel. " _Slug went_ _through clean. Let the meds to their work._ "

" _ExoGeni wants to purge the colony. But it's_ _still_ _a human colony!_ "Juliana answered.

Tavia snorted. "Since Lizbeth is currently unable to say much of anything, it's not the _colony_ ExoGeni wants erased. It's the thing _under_ the colony. There's a lifeform called the Thorian. And Zhu's Hope is the galaxy's biggest petri dish at the moment." By the end of her explanation, she almost spat the words.

Juliana's expression crumbled as Lizbeth's stifled cries of pain became whimpers as the painkillers flooded her system. " _The…_ _what?_ "

That struck Tavia as genuine non-comprehension.

"ExoGeni's been studying it and using the colony like lab rats. It is my personal belief that Jeong was well aware of it—hence his reluctance to head down there and his more… recent unwise actions. Lizbeth came clean to us about it."

" _Lizbeth?_ " Juliana looked down at her daughter.

" _S-sorry…_ " the girl slurred, looking semi-lucid and miserable rather than pained and miserable. " _Knew what was…_ _going on. Didn't do anything…_ " Tears welled up in her eyes before spilling free to snake towards her ears. " _…to help._ "

" _Don't you start,_ " Juliana soothed, blotting the tears with her sleeve. " _You do good work, and you know it._ "

Lizbeth simply shook her head while Ashley rolled her eyes. Tavia shared the sentiment, but supposed she could understand a mother's bias.

" _You said that ExoGeni wants the colony purged. How do we stop them?_ " Garrus asked.

" _We'd have to contain the situation here, somehow._ " Juliana shook her head, then something seemed to click into place. _"There's a crate—Jeong had security bring it but wouldn't say what was in it."_ She jumped to her feet and hurried over, pushing past the security men with Garrus hot on her heels.

" _Tavia. Crack it_ ," he answered, giving her a direct link.

In seconds, the lock—not a very difficult one—turned green.

" _These are_ …" Juliana picked up one of the vials full of green liquid.

" _Control for the colonists if they got out of the colony. Ashley called it,_ " Garrus mused. " _Tavia, you or Tali see what you can find in the databanks._ "

"I already found it," Tali broke in. "TN-037, it's a nerve agent meant to knock the colonists out but not kill them. ExoGeni wouldn't want to give up their studies so easily."

"The little shells there," Dr. Chakwas pointed, though only those in the briefing room could see her, "are deployment vectors. Put the vial into the shell and hit the trigger, then throw it where you need it—like a grenade. The shell aerosolizes the serum. It would have to be quite strong for this sort of delivery, but even so the range will be limited."

" _Tavia, remember that distraction you wanted to provide?_ "Garrus asked.

"Good way to get a lot of people in one place," Tavia answered. "You'd have to be close, though— _really_ close—before I have Joker set us down. This needs to happen fast if you don't want it to get bloody."

" _If_ _I_ _don't want_?" Garrus asked, surprised.

"…I recognize that it might be unavoidable," Tavia said delicately. "My job isn't to make these decisions; it's to ensure that you have the facts to do so. You call the plays, remember?"

" _If it were your decision_?" It was clear he hadn't expected to hit a wall like this.

Tavia closed her eyes. She could make the call if she had to, but it _was_ Garrus' mission. He ultimately called the play and was the one who had to live with the decisions. "Use the nerve agent until you don't have anymore—"

" _Why are we getting our asses shot off? Go in guns blazing. Nice and clean,_ " Wrex retorted. " _You lose the colonists, but you don't risk losing your Spectre-hunters._ "

It was the other thing she'd been thinking, even if she didn't want to admit it. A soldier's work contained many unpleasant choices which, if not considered at the outset of action, could come up unexpectedly. It was harder to deal with 'unpleasant decisions' when they were unexpected, or that was her experience.

"—then, if there is anyone who didn't get dosed, do what you must," Tavia finished evenly. It really was, after all, the only way.

" _Then we better not waste our shots,_ " Ashley said worriedly.

"That would be my recommendation," Tavia said. "I will have an armed shore party ready, in case you run out of nerve toxin."

" _Not necessary,_ " Garrus answered. " _You just stay put._ "

Tavia gritted her teeth.

" _I can't replace what's in your head, Tavia,_ " Garrus continued, more gently. " _I don't want Dr. T'Soni thrown into a shitfight and I certainly don't want Tali trying to do this alone. You're my coordinator. So coordinate._ "

Tavia sighed deeply, knowing in her heart of hearts he was right. Still, she liked the idea of a backup plan… and part of her resented not being part of the action. One who spent too much time coordinating from safety invariably started to forget that the people she moved around weren't just characters in a video game, that they were flesh and blood and couldn't be revived if they took too many hits. "You're the boss. Tell me when to take the Normandy in."


	15. Chapter 15

Garrus: Flora and Fauna

"What is the _matter_ with you?" Garrus demanded of Wrex, aware that he was venting heat from his plates as well as shouting.

"What's going on?" Tavia demanded, running over. Garrus noted the slight hitch in her gait at the same time as he noticed the rifle in one hand.

" _Your_ krogan!" Garrus snapped with more viciousness than was perhaps warranted, turning back to Wrex. "I said use the neutron toxin, not your slugs!"

"I ran out," Wrex answered in a growl.

"The rest of us hadn't!" He _knew_ including the krogan had been a bad idea. From now on, Tavia could handle him because his lizardy ass was staying on the Normandy. He looked at the few limp bodies oozing blood and winced inwardly. "You could have tagged one of us for more!"

"You want me to get my face chewed off? I'd have killed them if I'd knocked them away—humans are too damn fragile. The bullets were nicer," the krogan retorted.

"You couldn't have fallen to the back of the column?" Tavia asked calmly. Her face was so carefully neutral that Garrus felt certain she was working not to show reproach or disappointment or anything like either. She was a pragmatist… but still human, and valued lives. They wanted to save everyone… and in this case so had he. It seemed the 'good Spectre' thing to do. It was certainly what a good cop would try to do and in this, at least, he had proved the good cop—he had _tried to save them all_. His success on the good Spectre front…

Wrex ignored his redoubled glare to grimace at Tavia.

"How could he? Leave it up to the turian? Perish the thought," Garrus answered nastily.

"Hey, don't bring up that species crap," Tavia sighed. "It's not going to help anything."

"I'm not sure at this point what's better," Garrus snapped to her. "Keeping him with me so I know exactly what he's doing or to leave him with you to play security."

"I'm _not_ a varren on a leash, turian," Wrex growled dangerously. "And I don't work for you."

"No, you're a loose cannon and if Tavia wasn't vouching for you every other breath I'd have told you to go about your business since you so obviously don't want to be here," Garrus responding, his crest flaring in his agitation.

"If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be," Wrex growled. He shifted his handhold on his shotgun, and Garrus had to fight not to adjust his grip on his rifle. "But I'm starting to wonder." Red eyes flicked to Tavia.

Tavia frowned at them both, but held her silence as if trying to decide how best to diffuse the situation.

"Then prove it: because shooting civilians when there's no immediate necessity of it _isn't_ how this game is played," Garrus answered before turning sharply. "Tavia, if he pulls any of this crap again, I don't care what you have to say in his defense: he's gone."

"I understand," she answered simply, giving Wrex an expressive look: 'please don't put me in that situation.'

"Nice to know I've got backup," Wrex sneered.

"What do you want me to say? I _agree_ with Garrus. If you were the only one out of neurotoxin shells, you should have fallen back," Tavia answered. "But arguing and fighting about who's right and who's wrong isn't going to bring these people back or do anything about the Thorian. Wrex, please help Dr. Chakwas move the bodies. Garrus, let's talk about the Thorian."

"I thought you and he got on well," Garrus frowned as Wrex, snarling to himself, lumbered off.

"So did I," Tavia admitted. "If you feel more secure, he can stay with me to provide security. I'm sure he'll do well. Or… or I'll talk to him about parting ways."

"I don't know what I want to do about him, apart from leaving his ass here," Garrus fretted.

"I don't know what his problem is, but I'm a little curious about yours," Tavia declared gently. "Something's rubbing you the wrong way. Do you want to tell me what it is?"

Garrus considered, then glanced at Tavia. "I nearly did something stupid once, that could have got a lot of people killed… but probably got a lot more killed at the end of the day. Ask me about that mad scientist next time we're aboard ship," Garrus responded darkly.

He could still hear himself shouting to have Dr. Saleon's shuttle shot down, heedless of the damages it would cause. He could see the lack of wisdom in his choices, now and at a distance, but the 'what if' haunted him. How many lives had he been willing to spend for one man?

And now he was dealing with mad scientists, a sentient plant, and a krogan with no self-discipline… unless one counted the fact that Wrex hadn't tried to throttle him in his sleep, yet.

"The Thorian should be under this," Tavia motioned to the freighter at the center of the colony. "Dr. Chakwas and Dr. T'Soni are looking after the surviving colonists… this wasn't your fault, you know."

Garrus nodded. "Try to find out what the hell his problem is. If you can fix it, fix it. If you can't then he's gone."

"Do things right, not fast. I understand."

It had been one of his father's favorite maxims and he had hated it growing up. Now though, with no boundaries or guidelines… he found himself behaving more cautiously now that he didn't have the safety net of rules and regulations. He still hated the bureaucracy part of C-Sec, but part of him wished he was back there. He might put toes across various lines, but he was not in danger of enacting a massacre in the name of 'galactic security.'

"You're covered in algae," Tavia noted pragmatically, indicating the green mess all over Garrus' armor. "…and it _smells_." She put a hand over her mouth and nose or, rather, over the breather covering them.

He grimaced: if _she_ thought it was bad what did she think he was going through? For a moment he considered wiping a fleck of the goo off and wiping it on her shoulder… but it seemed so juvenile. "Really? I hadn't noticed. Those drones, or whatever they were, explode _spectacularly_. Your drone was pretty gummed up, too. I think Kaidan has it, or knows where it is," Garrus responded, glad for a change of subject as Tavia walked him to the controls for moving the freighter.

"I'll ask him. Luckily, I have a spare. I want to send the drone in, first. Uh… I'm not looking forward to getting that gunk out, though."

Garrus nodded his approval. "Does Dr. Chakwas think d-con can handle Thorian spores?" Obviously so, he thought, but he'd rather keep the conversation moving away from Wrex's erratic behavior.

"Yes," Tavia answered. "Thinking of washing up?"

"I have the feeling we'll just get covered in crap again. There's no point," he sighed. "But if we could find a decent hose I'd say 'field shower' in a heartbeat. What did Tali find out about Saren?"

"He was here, with a squad of asari—but Dr. T'Soni said she didn't see Matriarch Benezia with him. They went down into the Thorian's lair, then came out again—one short. I think they either left or sacrificed someone, because they didn't seem to be escaping when they came back out. He called in the geth attack not long after. Probably hoping to succeed in doing what he tried to do on Eden Prime: destroy the evidence."

Garrus nodded. That sounded about right—and if ExoGeni decided to purge the colony, so much the better as far as Saren's plans went. Saren couldn't be directly implicated by anyone or anything. "And ExoGeni? Are you in contact with them?"

"Very much so."

"They still want to purge the place?"

"They do, but I apprised them that there was a Council Spectre planetside, at the colony, and that the Council was aware of it. In no uncertain terms, if _anything_ happened to that Spectre ExoGeni expect heavy-handed retaliation in almost every capacity imaginable—and _then_ the Council would feed them to the Alliance for destroying a prototype warship _._ And, if that wasn't enough, the Alliance gets pissy when their civilian contractors get killed." Tavia grinned smugly and winked at him. "I also might also be blocking the signal that would activate the purge, as well as the satellite that would actually deploy it. Just in case—Tali's monitoring it."

"She's useful," Garrus said.

Tavia scoffed softly as if his understatement was monumental, shaking her head as she did so. "Brilliant. She would make an absolutely _brilliant_ combat engineer. Give it a few years and she'll be better than I am." It was clear that Tavia meant this as a compliment and with all due modesty.

Tavia: Eyes

Tavia guided the drone down, down, down into the Thorian's… could she call it a cave? Lair might be better.

"Whoa…" she breathed as the Thorian itself came into view.

"That's not like any plant I've ever seen," Tali breathed, peering over Tavia's shoulder.

"It looks more like an internal organ than a plant," Dr. T'Soni murmured, leaning over Tavia's other shoulder.

"Garrus, this thing is _hideous_ ," Tavia declared. It was also massive. "I'm seeing a lot of those hummocks, the ones that give way to shambling algal thralls. I'm also seeing a lot of… rootlets, I guess. They look like anchors for the Thorian—it's suspended in a chamber in the middle of the substructure."

"Like a heart, only not," Dr. Chakwas mused.

" _Just_ like an internal organ," Dr. T'Soni reiterated.

" _How big_?" Garrus asked.

"Several stories. I've never seen anything like it outside old horror vids. The cheap, stupid ones, mind you," she answered. It was a good thing he planned to take Wrex, since the mission wasn't what anyone might consider 'delicate' anymore.

Tavia hated to think that Wrex's issues were as shallow as 'turian versus krogan' but she suspected that she might just be placing too little importance on a topic that was ingrained in both species. Her people had fought a war with the turians, it was true—but that war had ended when the Council stepped in and jerked on both parties' leashes. It hadn't ended with a sterility plague that punished generation after generation beyond the original participants.

Or was it some krogan issue? Some physiological thing?

Whatever it was, she hoped it could be worked around. She liked having Wrex on the team—he was competent and she enjoyed the back-and-forth banter with him. She did not, however, assume amiability was friendship, nor did she assume that friendship (or, in this case, amiability) would win out in every pressured situation.

Or maybe he'd expected her to back him up, since she understood the necessity the ground team faced. But he _could_ have fallen back or tagged one of the others for a few more shells… and the idea had been shared by people with boots on the ground and adrenaline pumping in their veins. So her views on that point weren't the result of being safely at a distance.

"Hey doc. When Wrex gets back, take a blood sample, see if the Thorian hasn't affected him somehow," Tavia declared.

"He's worn his breather the whole time, just as the others have. As we all have," Dr. Chakwas declared before breaking off into private musing. "…but I suppose it's possible that the spores might work differently on different species. Perhaps transdermally, or through the mucous of the eyes."

"I don't think there's much more I can see or do to prepare you for what's down there," Tavia continued. "So… full steam ahead."

Garrus: Fugly

"I _like_ this plan," Ashley declared as the team moved down into the substructure. "Find the thing and put a few… rounds… into… eew!"

It was such an incongruous sound coming from the tough marine that Garrus actually looked back to make sure it had been Ashley who said it and not, say, Dr. T'Soni come to sneak a peek.

"That's… not like any plant I've ever seen," Kaidan agreed, his biotics flaring gently in response to his nerves.

The Thorian was even uglier in-person (so to speak) than Tavia led him to believe. It looked less like a strange internal organ and more like an embryo or some kind of weird thing hanar might have descended from—only terrestrial instead of marine. It also stank, like algae and carrion mixed together and having being pickled in some kind of toxic brine.

"This could be… problematic," Garrus agreed.

"No, it really isn't," Wrex answered.

Fortunately, and Garrus was glad Tavia had had a few words with Wrex, the krogan didn't start anything prematurely. He hoped her suggestion that Wrex might simply be experiencing low-level side effects from transdermal Thorian contamination was true. He'd begun to entertain the notion that Wrex wasn't a brute, even if he was a krogan. Unless Tavia's suggestion was accurate… well, he would rather hope for a better explanation than 'bad attitude.'

" _I told you it was ugly,_ " Tavia declared.

"Yeah, but you don't have to _smell_ it," Garrus grumbled, and was rewarded with a chuckle from Tavia.

" _Lucky me._ "

Suddenly, the Thorian began to… drool?... its tentacles near what Garrus would have called a mouth waving nastily.

"Stay back!" Garrus warned, taking two steps back himself.

From the mouth, covered in drool ( _was_ there a better word?) and surrounded by tentacles dropped a body. A moment later, it unfolded itself, slipping out from between the tentacles as though emerging from behind a curtain.

Garrus blinked. Asari didn't normally come in the color green, nor did they drop out of some giant animal-plant-thing. She moved forward, one tentacle hanging heavily on her shoulder like a guiding hand.

The asari, clad in black commando leathers, regarded them all as if she had never actually seen a turian, two humans, and a krogan. "Invaders. Your every step here is a transgression," the asari announced, her voice oddly low as if she was unused to using it. The tentacle on her shoulder gave the impression she was only a puppet speaking for the Thorian, a translational medium between it at the organics before it. "A thousand feelers appraise you as meat. Good only to dig or decompose. I speak for the Old Growth, as I did for Saren. You are within and before the Thorian. It commands that you be in awe."

"Pretty arrogant for a _plant_ ," Ashley noted flatly.

"You gave something to Saren," Garrus declared, ignoring Ashley in spite of agreeing with her. "What was it?"

The asari remained silent, staring at them for a moment before answering. It was like lag in an old-style translator. "Saren sought the knowledge of those who are gone. The Old Growth listened to flesh for the first time in the Long Cycle. Trades were made. Then cold ones began killing the flesh that would tend the next cycle. Flesh fairly given!" Although the asari raised her voice, it lacked true emotion.

" _Garrus. That thing isn't really an asari. Scans indicate none of the usual heat signals associated with a living body. However, they are comparable to the heat signals given off by the Thorian itself. Dr. Chawkas theorizes that this is actually plant matter assembled to mimic an asari. That the asari who didn't come out when Saren brought the unit back might be acting like a template, allowing the Thorian the capacity to communicate. Dr. T'Soni says it's entirely possible, given the asari ability to meld minds like they do._ "

"Hm." It was interesting to know, although not immediately helpful.

"The Old Growth sees the air you push as lies. No more will the Thorian listen to those that scurry. Your lives are short, but have gone on too long!"

Tavia: Hands

"Handle her gently. Scans say she's still alive, just subdued," Tavia announced as Garrus tore down the fleshy sac in which Tavia had located—using her drone to look for heat signals—the 'template' asari.

" _You know anything about asari physiology?_ " Garrus asked.

"Just what we covered in ICT," Tavia answered. "Kaidan. See if you can find any physical reasons we shouldn't get her out of this pit."

Kaidan began to feel at the asari's head and neck, then shifted her onto her side so he could feel along her back. " _Nothing I can find, but training didn't cover much about xenomedicine._ "

"Alright. If you can't find any head or neck injuries, and I don't honestly expect that kind of trauma given her overall appearance, I would pick her up and get out of there."

" _Any news on the Thorian? You think that drop killed it?_ " Garrus asked Kaidan shouldered the unconscious asari.

"I don't know. We'll keep scanning to see if the spore count goes down. In the meantime, we're doing what we can for the colonists. We've got them locked down in the prefabs and changed the passcodes. How're you feeling, Wrex?"

" _Fine_ ," the krogan grunted.

"I want you to report to Dr. Chakwas as soon as you get back aboard ship, if you would." She didn't mean it as a request, but Dr. Chakwas had suggested that Wrex's adrenal levels were elevated beyond what one might expect in a krogan and that there was a low-level spore count in the blood sample she took before letting him go into the Thorian's lair. It was not proof-positive that he was being assailed by an outside force, but it was suggestive.

Tavia only hoped that this episode didn't lay groundwork for more, non-spore induced trouble.

Garrus: Answers

"So Wrex's problems were induced?" Garrus asked.

He and Tavia sat in the medbay—Dr. Chakwas taking coffee with Engineer Adams out in the mess—watching the rescued asari sleeping. According to Dr. Chakwas, neural function kept increasing and had finally reached normal levels for a sleeping organic. Now all they had to do, hopefully, was wait for her to wake up.

"Partially. The problem is that Dr. Chakwas suggests he could have worked through it if he wanted to—which means restraint wasn't too high on his priorities list," Tavia sighed. "Take it for what it is—one of those things. And, unfortunately, this time it ended up with dead bodies."

"Is the spore count coming down?" It was the only topic he could think of that would get them away from 'dead bodies, preventable.'

"In his blood and in the colony. Either the Thorian is playing possum or it's really dead. Juliana is spearheading an effort to make absolutely sure it's the latter. Also, ExoGeni has withdrawn its intent to purge the colony since the threat has been 'officially' contained. Right now, they're probably scrambling to figure out how to cover all this up without doing anything that will attract unpleasant questions. _Particularly_ since they have a Council Spectre to deal with."

Garrus nodded. "I'd love to know how you handle so much at anyone one time."

"Human females are good at multitasking," she answered smugly. "I'm compiling ways to leak what happened here so ExoGeni can't cover it up or make it go away."

"Good. If you need my help, ask. This _shouldn't_ go away," Garrus growled, flexing his talons. You wouldn't catch the Hierarchy doing something like this. He'd once heard it said that humans were a fairly self-destructive race. He was starting to see why some might harbor that view.

"So, tell me about your mad scientist."

It was also a safer subject to brood on than Wrex. Garrus huffed softly, sipping the hot tea he'd left cooling on the table against which he and Tavia leaned. "His name was Dr. Saleon, salarian scientist—well, geneticist if you want to be technical."

"Of course," Tavia chuckled into her coffee.

"It does sound a bit clichéd, I know. I was working black market on the Citadel at the time—this was early in my C-Sec career. Most of it was harmless or, at least, the usual stuff. Then all of a sudden, there was this spike in the trade of organs—way beyond what one could expect. It was scary: no one knew if we were dealing with a growing lab or if some sick freak was out there just harvesting people." He remembered how terrified he'd been, deep down in the air-hollows of his bones, that it was a psycho. Psychos were harder to find than growing labs and they had a more profound effect on the populace.

The idea of innocent people, probably the ones 'no one would miss,' being butchered like cattle had sickened him. He'd had nightmares about it.

"That _is_ pretty scary," Tavia agreed.

It happened, both ways, out in the galaxy as Garrus well knew. He remembered the elcor diplomat; he'd found out about that while combing records of similar offenders. More accurately, he remembered images of the diplomat's victims. It would have been funny to listen to the recording of the elcor try to lie his way out if he hadn't prefaced everything in the fashion of elcor. He'd never understood why, if elcor learned to add verbal emotional cues, they were such bad liars. Or maybe the diplomat had just been that stupid.

"We eventually got ahold of a sample and ran the usual DNA tests. The strange thing was that the turian whose liver it was very alive and _very_ certain he still had his liver. All of it." And then had come the flood of relief, hotly pursued by confusion, because it meant a lab and not a psycho.

People could sleep at night.

And his nightmares had stopped.

Tavia chuckled at this.

Most humans didn't get the liver joke—since one lobe was redundant unless one of the other two lobes was damaged enough to need replacing—which meant that someone, probably her ICT program, taught her a little about turian physiology.

He wondered, in a macabre vein, how many ways to damage a turian ICT taught. It wasn't anything disturbing, since turians learned how to deal with almost every species out there as part of basic. Killing was easy; that just took slugs or a knife or something. The true test of skill was in the number of ways someone knew that could seriously damage someone else.

Humans, for instance, had a thinner skin than asari, even if their bones were heavier—their _veins_ actually showed, for crying out loud. Turian body density (the carapace making up for the air hollows in their bones) made swimming psychologically grueling for most, whereas most other races enjoyed recreational immersion.

"After some digging, I discovered the turian had worked briefly for Dr. Saleon—registered geneticist."

"So you raided his lab."

That had been a confusing and slightly embarrassing episode. Pallin had had quite a few things to say about 'charging in all gung-ho like only to turn up—wonder of wonders!—a whole lot of legal products, dammit! _Very_ incriminating, Garrus!' He could still hear the man's tirade and even now his audial wells rang with the memory of it. It had been hard to argue back, since Pallin was one hundred percent right.

Oh, the embarrassment.

And his father caught up with him several days later. The disappointment had been hard to bear, since on that occasion he couldn't muster enough indignation to argue back—hence why arguments got volatile. To his father's credit, though… it had been short when he realized just how embarrassed and upset his son was.

It was, after all, _very_ early in his C-Sec career.

To everyone's surprise (and which made Garrus more sure than ever that the man was up to something nefarious) Saleon himself had taken it well, treated it almost humorously and praised C-Sec for its zeal, however misplaced. It had probably been a relief to Pallin that Saleon hadn't made a fuss.

"No salarian hearts, no turian livers, not one krogan testicle."

Tavia spat the mouthful she'd just taken back into her coffee.

"Oh, that's just _gross_ ," Garrus rumbled as Tavia gave him a look halfway between amused and baleful.

"Krogan testicles?" she sputtered, producing the napkin that always accompanied her when she carried a drink around. "Seriously?"

"Oh, yeah. There's this mistaken belief that transplants can increase their virility, counteract the genophage. Doesn't work, though. Doesn't stop people from trying, either—forty _thousand_ credits for a complete set." In that respect, it was expensive to be a krogan. He remembered being shocked when he found out where the phrase 'has a quad' came from. He'd never expected it to be a literal anatomical reference.

"Forty _thousand_?" Tavia marveled. "Wow. So—"

"Nnng…" the asari shifted. "Where-where am I?" she demanded with a quaver in her voice.

"Pick this up later?" Tavia asked hopefully.

"Relax. You're aboard the SSV Normandy," Garrus answered, nodding to Tavia. "I'm Spectre Garrus Vakarian. This is Commander Tavia Shepard. We rescued you from the Thorian."

The asari say up, passaging one temple gingerly and squinting in the bright light, which Tavia immediately dimmed. "I-I see. Thank you. I… suppose I should thank you for releasing me."

"You're not sure?" Tavia asked neutrally.

"Sorry. I feel a little… muzzy… still."

"What's your name?" Garrus asked.

The asari paused, as if rummaging disarranged thoughts for the answer. "Shiala. I served Matriarch Benezia's—I was part of her personal guard, until she sent some of us here, with Saren."

"Do you know why she allied with him?" Tavia asked.

"She foresaw that Saren would have great influence," Shiala answered, still slow to respond. "She joined him, the better to guide him down gentler paths." The asari bowed her eyes, eyes lowered. "But Saren is compelling. Lady Benezia has… lost her way." The weight of regret, that despite being one of Benezia's protectors she had not been able to do her job, was heavy in Shiala's voice.

"Are you saying Saren can control minds?" Garrus frowned, exchanging a look with Tavia. If he could… then why did he need the Thorian?

"I don't know. In time, we came to believe in his cause and his goals. The strength of his influence is… troubling. He has this… vessel. A ship of enormous size, unlike anything I've ever seen. He calls it Sovereign. He showed it to Lady Benezia. When she came back to us after that, she had it in mind to help him. We traveled with them for a time and…" Shiala shook her head.

"So, Benezia tried to manipulate Saren, her plan backfired and she got burned," Garrus summed up, frowning darkly. He'd seen the ship, Sovereign, and knew Tavia had seen something like it.

Shiala glared at him, but nodded. "Put bluntly, yes."

"Why did you go along with this plan? I take it you didn't wake up one morning and decide you wanted to be Thorian bait," Tavia declared, her tone mildly teasing, intended to lighten the conversation.

Shiala's mouth twitched into a smile. "No, nothing like that. I was willing when Saren brought me to this world. He needed my abilities to communicate with the Thorian, to learn its secrets. It was important to him, so it was important to Lady Benezia. It seemed… like the right thing to do. The only thing to do. So here I came and here I would have stayed, traded to the Thorian."

"And once Saren had what he needed, he used the geth to try to destroy the Thorian and wipe out all evidence of its existence and his presence here," Garrus finished.

"Because he knows we're onto his crazy-ass scheme," Tavia answered with a grim kind of satisfaction.

It did smack of slash-and-burn tactics. Not something he would have expected from an experienced Spectre like Saren. Good news for the so-called home team, though.

"Yes. _Especially_ because he knows you are following him, searching for the Conduit. He knows that you," she looked at Tavia, "have knowledge of the Reapers. He attacked the Thorian to deprive you of the Cipher."

"That's something new—mention of the Cipher, not Saren's sloppy attempts to cover up," Tavia said.

Garrus chuckled at this. Where Tavia was concerned, Saren did seem quite sloppy. He wasn't sure if it was because Saren wasn't appreciating the threat she represented or if she was turning into more trouble than the turian could handle with only six fingers.

"So, what is the Cipher?"

Garrus didn't know if it was intentional or not, but Tavia edged a little closer to him as she asked, as if shying away from the answer. He could understand her unease: if Saren needed an asari to bridge some sort of gap, then that meant something weird involving brains.

"A beacon is able to grant visions, but they would be unclear and confused. They are meant for a Prothean mind. In order to truly comprehend a beacon's information, one must think like a Prothean, understand their culture, their history, their very existence. The Thorian was here long ages before the Protheans built this city. It watched and studied them. When they died… it consumed them. They became part of it."

"I'm… _not_ going to like where this is going, am I?" Tavia asked uneasily, wrapping her arms around herself, her expression twisting into one of sickened certainty.

"You used your ability to meld minds to take this 'Cipher' from the Thorian and give it to Saren. Didn't you?" Garrus asked. It was best to get the worst out and over with quickly. Tavia had begun to go pale and looked a little sick, as though looking into an unpleasant future knowing how it was going to end.


	16. Chapter 16

Tavia: Not Again

Tavia's stomach sank as Garrus phrased the question she had been desperately trying to ignore—mostly because she felt it would be too good to be true if it turned out to be a datapad or a tale one could hear and learn from. It _would_ be more brain-scrambling. There seemed no end to it.

"Yes. It is endemic ancestral memory—the collected experience of thousands of Prothean generations, a viewpoint wider than a hundred years of conversation could convey," Shiala waved, sounding impressed by and a little proud of the experience.

It made Tavia feel sicker still. She had to swallow hard and _will_ herself not to give in to the nervous shakes threatening to overtake her entire body.

"I learned it all when I melded with the Thorian. Our identities merged, our minds become one—"

Tavia looked at Garrus, forcing down the instinct to tell him what to go do with himself (using a cactus, because she couldn't think of anything more uncomfortable), then forcing down the instinct to ask that she be excused from the event barreling towards her. It might be fine for asari, who were designed to meld and merge and whatever, but humans had a very finite brain capacity and hers felt tapped out.

"—it cannot be taught," Shiala finished almost reverently. "It simply exists. And now it exists with Saren and with me."

And, Tavia's fierce, irrational side snarled, it could keep existing. Right inside Shiala's skull—she hoped it would crack Saren's and that his brain would leak out his ears in a turian-brain-colored _puddle_. Problem solved.

Her pragmatic side, however, already sought to steel her against the coming necessity.

Her emotional side screamed bloody murder against what was increasingly being perceived as a violation.

Garrus looked at her, mandibles waving slightly, his expression pulled into consternation. According to her halo, he was giving off worried/concerned tones outside her hearing range. "We have to find and stop Saren," Tavia said as bravely as she could. "You gave him the Cipher. Can you give it to me, too? I'm sorry if that's a little bold, but—"

"But you don't have many options," Shiala answered gently. She looked sympathetic, as if she found Tavia's increasing distress distressing herself. "I understand and I certainly can. And will." Shiala swung her legs over the side of the bed and stepped up to Tavia, holding out her hands.

"Are you… sure you're up to it?" Tavia asked, recognizing a play for time on her part and inwardly scowling. Playing for time made it worse, would give her more time to wait in sickening expectation. Better to get it over with quickly.

"I am, but I begin to think you are not." Shiala looked Tavia up and down. "There is much fear in you. You must be open to this joining. The Cipher is a great deal to absorb; I would not wish to harm you."

"No, it's alright. I can't get around this. I'm the only one who can… let's just do it." Tavia, swallowing hard, hesitantly took the asari's proffered hands, glad there was leather between them so Shiala wouldn't have to feel how sweaty her palms had grown.

Tavia flinched when Garrus' palms came to rest on her shoulders unexpectedly. The touch was light, as if he was ready to withdraw the gesture of support the instant she required it. The warmth was welcome though, even if she found the three-fingered hands strange. "Thanks," she managed around the feeling of nausea clawing its way up her esophagus. Garrus' grip on her shoulders tightened, becoming true, bracing reassurance.

She prayed she wouldn't throw up all over the asari. _That_ would be a fine way to say 'thank you.'

"You are too tense," Shiala said, her brows tightening. "Close your eyes. Take deep breaths."

Tavia forced herself to obey. Shiala's hands slid to grip her arms just below the elbow her own hands balanced neatly on the asari's forearms.

"Will I need to move?" Garrus asked.

"Not unless she requires it," Shiala responded. "Let of you your physical shell. Reach out to grasp the threads that bind us, one to another."

Tavia flinched when Garrus' chest press against her back as he stepped forward. Through the contact, she could feel a faint rumbling vibration. It was oddly soothing and part of her wondered if sub-audial tones could still have effects if a human was exposed to the vibrations they made. It certainly felt that way, like being held by a purring cat.

It helped a little. At least she wouldn't crack her head open on the floor if she collapsed as she had with Dr. T'Soni.

"Every action sends ripples across the galaxy. Every idea must touch another mind to live. Each emotion must mark another's spirit." Five-fingered hands appeared on the back of her neck and her forehead, as if balancing the weight resting on top of her neck. The asari's voice seemed to slide around, tone soft and soothing.

She tried to focus on the asari's words, then found it easier to focus in Garrus' reassuring rumble. That and the hands on her shoulders made it easier not to tense up and panic. That the asari seemed so calm, so conscious of her, Tavia's, comfort helped too. But she had broken out into a full-body stress sweat and the tremors she'd tried so hard to hide had become impossible to suppress.

"We are all connected. Every living being united in a single, glorious existence. Open yourself to the universe, Tavia. Embrace eternity."

Suddenly, she was nowhere in particular, just a mote of ideas and feeling surrounded by a million, trillion other motes of thought. They milled and circled like cereal in a bowl, bumping against one another. Suddenly, another mote latched onto to her. She felt a faint spark as of shared consciousness, something—some _one_ familiar. The cereal in a bowl began to swirl as if moving down a drain. Then, slowly, she found she was only a single mote again, then more than a mote, more like a grain of sand. Then she was a pebble. A stone. A rock. A boulder. A mountain. A planet.

And then she was Tavia, reflected through a million mirrors, looking down a hall of mirrors in a room full of nothing but mirrors, faced with mirrors beyond count, each reflecting her—except once she understood the reflections they changed. For a brief moment, she saw Shiala in one, then the asari was gone. In the millions of mirrors' reflections stood others, people she didn't know who wore her own red polo shirt and dark cargo pants. Strange bodies filled the familiar clothes.

She didn't know them, but she understood them in the way she would understand the body language of another human, in the way tones in speech made sense even if the language spoken might not.

She was a mountain and the winds howled around her.

She was a sun about whom strange planets and moons swung at ridiculous speed.

She was no longer the sun, but moved away from it, counting worlds and moons as she panned back, ever back…

Tavia let out a yelp, or rather a screech, as a Reaper rushed her out of the darkness, throwing up her arms to protect her face.

She staggered back into Garrus, blinking and sucking air. His arms closed around her to keep her from thrashing or falling… or maybe just a comforting gesture. "Whoa," she panted, shaking all over. All she could think was 'what a rush!' Her head was full of cotton batting and felt a little too tightly packed—like it used to during high school finals week, which she had always taken so seriously. "It's—" she waved a hand. She had the thoughts but she didn't have the words. They just wouldn't come out. Finally, she growled in frustration. "I _know_ it I just can't _say_ it!" she snarled.

The pitch of Garrus' reassuring purr jumped, if the change in vibration was any indication. "Are you alright?" he demanded.

"Uh… yeah, yeah, just… I dunno," Tavia shook her head to try to clear it, but found it didn't help much. She hadn't felt this way since… her Alliance aptitude screenings? Finals in high school, which she'd always taken ' _way too seriously Tavia_ '?

Garrus huffed softly as if he didn't believe her, so he didn't let her go.

Not having to consider her own sense of balance left her more energy, more brainpower, to think with. She'd take it.

"I was as careful as I could be. Her last partner was… not well-practiced. And the beacons caused considerable scarring," Shiala offered. "I am sorry if you suffered."

"I'm not fainting or puking my guts up. I'm fine," Tavia answered, still shaking.

" _I'm_ not so sure you're fine," Garrus answered before moving her over to one of the medical tables and helping her climb up onto it. He swung to the door. "Dr. Chakwas!"

"Thank you," Tavia said to Shiala, who hovered, a worry crease between her brows.

"It will take time for you to process all this information. Your last partner—she was looking for something, something she desperately wished to find."

Tavia nodded. "Prothean expert. We'd hoped she could make some sense of what was going on up here." Tavia indicated her brain.

"A sound plan. Perhaps this time it will work. I will… suggest she be less cavalier."

Tavia couldn't stop her mouth from twisting wryly. It was funny to see Shiala look almost… prim.

Garrus: Worry

Dr. Chakwas let Tavia return to her quarters on the condition that there be no more 'mental molestation' unless she, Dr. Chakwas, was present. This time, Dr. Chakwas seemed ready to exact punishment if her insistence was ignored again. Her rage at this cavalier treatment of Tavia's mind had landed firmly and squarely on Garrus' shoulders, no matter how hard Tavia had tried to defend him. In fact, the angrier and more frustrated Tavia got, the more irritable and protective Dr. Chakwas got.

So, in the end, neither was really helping.

On his part, Garrus took it all meekly. The doctor seemed to have the idea that Tavia and Shiala were free from blame for 'stupid things' while he was the responsible party. Maybe she thought he'd used his Spectre authority to coerce the asari, or maybe she knew he was tough enough to take her fussing.

Dr. Chakwas did _a lot_ of fussing.

Dr. Chakwas' other demand, with regards to Tavia not spending the night strapped down to a medtable, was that she be checked up on every hour or so.

At dinnertime, Garrus prevailed with Dr. Chakwas, insisting that after three hours uninterrupted by him, Tavia had to have recovered enough for a little chit-chat. It was hard to argue, since Ashley had spent a solid hour playing cards—or something—with Tavia before emerging with the message for Dr. Chakwas that Tavia had finally decided she needed to rest.

It had warmed the barnacles on Garrus' heart to see Shiala and Dr. T'Soni sitting at the dinner table, Liara's face blushing a deep purple as the older asari explained something to her. Although Shiala smiled, he had no doubt the asari did it so as not to attract attention by looking like she was chewing the young doctor out or giving her awkward advice.

Tavia was, in fact, asleep when he opened the door, having knocked but received no answer. She woke at the sound, though, and sat up blearily. "What is it?" she slurred, propping herself on her elbow. She looked ready to fall back down and go right back to sleep.

"Dinner," Garrus answered, turning the lights up a bit.

"Ugh." Tavia flopped back down onto her pillows and rolled over to give him her back. "Not hungry."

"That's fine because none of it requires chewing. You should know that Ashley paid particular attention to this meal."

"She'll bitch at me if I don't eat it, then," Tavia groaned.

She must be feeling messed up to phrase it like that. "Like I said, no chewing," Garrus offered, looking for a place to put the plastic tray. Upon not finding one—her desk and bedside able were full of datapads and magazines—he handed it to Tavia, who readjusted her pillows and looked morosely at the food. "Do you feel any worse?" She didn't look worse, though she was still a bit pale.

"No, just a little weird. I haven't felt like this since I caught that flu-bug thing on that little backwater world. It made me sick but I couldn't articulate _how_ I was sick. Drove the ship's doctor nuts. Luckily, I wasn't the only one having problems." After a moment, Tavia paused. "Are you… just going to sit here and watch me eat?" she asked nervously.

"Afraid so. To be honest," he lowered his voice, "I'm hiding from Dr. Chakwas' watchful eye. Although I think she'll burst in here soon, to make sure I'm not egging you on to do something stupid. Something _else_ stupid."

Tavia chuckled. "I'm sorry about her. She worries."

"She's a doctor on a warship. She needs to stay in practice. Besides, she's positively gentle compared to a turian doctor. A turian doctor would have thrown me in the brig for even considering letting you interface like that without her being present. The _brig_ mind you. And then strapped you down to a medtable because _clearly_ your judgment was compromised." Garrus waved his mandibles in a grin. "The Hierarchy is big into not abusing government property."

"I almost forgot your people are bigger GIs than the rest of us," Tavia chuckled. "So, are you going to finish telling me about Dr. Saleon?"

"Not exactly dinner conversation," Garrus warned.

"I'm ICT. I can take it. Basic conditioning: they make us watch some of the goriest footage they can find over meals for one whole training evolution. You've got to be able to eat even when the situation is ugly. Especially when it's ugly. So, you found this geneticist, but no organs," she prompted.

Smart on the part of her program's instructors. Ugly usually meant combat; combat situations required higher caloric intake than others. If you couldn't eat in the field, you were likely to have real problems. "Yeah," Garrus settled down in her chair, watching as she hesitantly peered at the soup.

She made a face, then seemed to resign herself to it, eschewed the spoon, and chugged it as quickly as she could from the bowl.

"I brought in some of his employees for… interrogation. To see if I could get them to talk. While I was interviewing one of them, I came across something suspicious."

"You mean _threatening_ him," Tavia shook her head ruefully. It was not a criticism, more like… what she rather expected, given what she knew of him.

"He wasn't going to just answer me if I asked nicely. I did ask nicely, you know. The first time," Garrus answered defensively.

"The first time you conducted an interrogation or the first time you ask each new suspect?" Tavia snickered.

"Ha ha ha."

"I'll be here all week."

"Fine. One of my _detainees_ ," he gave her a pointed look, "started bleeding profusely during the interview. We offered to patch him up and he got frantic, totally freaked out. Naturally, I ordered a full exam. He shouldn't have been bleeding at all."

He also remembered the look of terror on the man's face when the bleeding started, then the horror when 'help' was suggested.

"Our medics found incision marks all over his body, some of them fresh. See, these people didn't just work for Dr. Saleon…" he appreciated Tavia's wide-eyed regard. It was less that she was shocked—ICT, after all—and more sickly fascinated. It was a pretty grisly tale. "They were his test tubes. Walking, living test tubes."

"He was growing _parts_ in those people?" Tavia asked, taking a long drink of whatever was in her cup without paying attention to it.

"Exactly. It's why we never found anything except a liver that a guy never lost."

"That is _sick_ ," Tavia marveled. "That's just _sick_."

"It was." He'd given Dr. Saleon points for originality himself. It wasn't a crime to admire a piece of good thinking even if the offense was punishable by law as long as the perpetrator could be arrested and made to face his actions… and be punished for them. That last part was the important one. "He'd clone the organs right inside their bodies, then he'd harvest the healthy ones and sell them off."

"…when you say, specifically, the healthy ones…?" Tavia asked delicately, by now eating mechanically without thought to what she was eating past getting it to her mouth without spilling or dropping anything.

Desensitization training. He was seeing it now. "Well, if the organ didn't grow right or turned out to be a dud, he'd just leave it in there."

"Let me guess—most of his victims were poor, the kind of people no one would miss if something bad happened," Tavia said disgustedly.

Almost how he'd said it himself. "Right in one. He'd pay them a small percentage of the sale, but only if the organ was healthy. Most of his 'employees' were a mess, but only on the inside."

"Hidden in plain view. And it sounds _so_ in keeping with 'salarian biotech criminal': creative and ingenious, right there in the open and no one knows it's there." Tavia finished. "Please tell me he's rotting in a jail cell somewhere. Or… resisted arrest and was _tragically_ killed."

"Afraid not." This was the part that really got under his plates.

"Why? What happened?" Tavia straightened up, then shifted so she sat more comfortably for conversation.

"He ran. Blew his lab, snagged a few of his 'employees' and headed for the nearest space dock." Garrus frowned, crossing his arms and kicking his feet up onto the edge of Tavia's bed. Human chairs were never meant for turian bodies. She scooted to accommodate him. "By the time I found out, his ship was already leaving. He threatened to kill his hostages if we tried to stop him."

"Bad situation. Still, they could have disabled the ship, right? Or, worst case scenario, shot it down. He wasn't going to just give up his life of mutilation. Too lucrative." Tavia scowled when she tried to take another sip of her drink and found nothing left. She set it on the bedside table, shifting a pile of datapads to make room.

"That's what I thought. I ordered Citadel Defense to shoot him down, but C-Sec overrode me. They were worried about the hostages and they were worried about civilian casualties if the ship was destroyed so close to the Citadel." As far as he was concerned, they'd saved lives in the short term… but in the long term, who knew?

"Ah, that does make sense. Still, what good is Citadel Defense if it can't prevent a ship from leaving?" Tavia shook her head.

Garrus shrugged. "You have no idea how many times I shouted that, that week. They sent the military after him, of course, but it was no good. He got away clean. I think that was the only time I ever saw Executor Pallin so angry—I told him what I thought of him _and_ his policies. He said if I didn't like it I could quit. I nearly did. Wouldn't have mattered—I got tapped for Spectre candidacy a few weeks later—just candidacy, mind." Nihlus had come later.

"You ever find him again?" Tavia asked, looking serious.

"Nihlus, my preceptor, did some looking around once I was attached to him. Had a lead, but it was some time ago. He agreed with me—though not about shooting the thing _down_. He was with you: disable it. The hostages would be regrettable but how many more would suffer if that bastard wasn't stopped?"

Garrus looked away from her. It was one of those calls that one could never get right whatever one did. He felt bad for the hostages, yes. It was a terrible choice to make, yes. But at the end of the day nothing had changed: the psycho was still out there, doing what he was doing.

Thinking about Nihlus didn't do anything for the grim thoughts, but at least Saren's trail was anything but cold. He would take little victories where he could get them.

"And your lead is cold?" she asked.

"Yes." He looked up to find her regarding him with a mix of curiosity and sympathy. "Nihlus and I had a talk when he told me about it. He said we could look into it if I wanted to, but that I'd better be sure why I was doing this. What was more important: catching the bastard because of what he was doing to people or catching the bastard because I couldn't live with the fact that he got away?"

That had been hard. Nihlus was a bit of a maverick, true, but he was also a man of high ideals and great personal integrity. If he had to make an ugly call, he was damn certain of his reasons for doing so. It probably helped him sleep at night; apparently Spectres were prone to insomnia and many used low-level sedatives to combat it. Not strong enough to render them ineffective if shit jumped off in the night, but enough to help them get close to dropping off for the night.

He'd pointed out that a dose like that would be just enough to put a person into that half-sleep stage, one he considered next to useless.

Nihlus' answer had been chilling: ' _yeah._ '

Garrus shook himself. It wouldn't help anyone for him to go there just now. "I wasn't sure, so I said we should hold off. The man could smell indecision and hated it. We weren't in a business that allowed for it and if a Spectre didn't know his own mind and heart at any given instant then he needed to find a new job."

"Sounds like you two were close," Tavia offered.

"Not really. Just… a lot alike. He once said he saw a lot of himself in me, and that was why he was willing to play nursemaid." Strangely, it didn't hurt as much to tell Tavia about Nihlus as it did telling others. He wasn't sure why, it just wasn't.

"Well, if you ever decide you want to follow up… let me know. Your ass might ride in navy equipment but my mouth says where that navy equipment goes. And if you need backup, I've got a weapon and an omnitool."

"Just like that?" Garrus asked, cocking his head.

"Just like that."

Tavia: Get it Over With

Tavia looked around the room the day after the Feros mission. Although still under the watchful eye of Dr. Chakwas, she did not feel she could put off the inevitable for very much longer. She felt bad about forgetting to call Dr. Chakwas in to superintend the transfer of the Cipher, and Dr. Chakwas would never accept 'I didn't think about it.' Thus, she felt the good Doctor was keeping an eagle eye on her in case her slippery mind was willful rather than genuine forgetfulness.

"How do you feel, Skipper?" Ashley asked. The question had been kept to a minimum since the day before, and Tavia was grateful for it.

"I'm fine, if the doc would just clear me for duty," Shepard said, glaring at Dr. Chakwas.

"Sorry, Shepard. Better safe than sorry," Dr. Chakwas replied serenely.

Tavia found herself smiling ruefully. Most Alliance doctors were like Dr. Chakwas—she'd simply allowed herself to forget a lot of that. She'd also forgotten how much they ruled the roost when it came to wellness—not just health.

The topic of whether Dr. T'Soni could interface with her again and make sense of the visions now that the Cipher was in place—like reading glasses, Tavia thought darkly—hung in the air. It seemed to be a question no one wanted to bring forward.

Finally, Tavia and Dr. T'Soni looked at one another. "Are you certain?" Dr. T'Soni asked.

"No choice. Let's do this." Both women got to their feet.

Dr. T'Soni took Tavia's hands. Tavia set her jaw, looking into those big, blue eyes. "Relax, Commander," Dr. T'Soni prompted.

Tavia struggled not to tense up, but Shiala's comment about Dr. T'Soni having been cavalier echoed in her mind.

"Embrace eternity."

Every muscle in her body contracted.

 _They came for us! Out of Darkness!_ someone screamed, a mix of rage, despair and horror.

 _The Homeworld burns! The Machines have come!_

 _Who can we trust? Is anyone to be trusted?_

 _They kill what they cannot capture._

 _They take us living! They need our lives as well as our bodies!_

 _See what they make of us? Ruin and wreckage they call a whole!_

 _Who do you trust? Trust no one!_

 _They will come for you! Out of Darkness!_

 _The Homeworld will burn! You must be ready!_

The screams and raging continued, but underneath it all she heard it, a whisper as if someone stood at her ear. The noise persisted around her and the voice, but left them in their own quiet bubble, covering them with cacophony.

 _Here, you will find answers. Here, you will find means. Here, you must go._

 _Go now._

 _They are coming._

Tavia flinched as the Reaper rushed her, but this time she did not move to protect herself.

"That was… incredible!" Dr. T'Soni gasped, stepping hastily back from Tavia.

"It's not a warning," Tavia stammered. "Well, it is but it's-it's a map. They—the Protheans—they left something… hid it. The beacons were supposed to help us find it… whatever it was," she stammered. She felt as though she had too many thoughts all trying to escape at once and, as a result, piled up and had to eke through in fits and starts.

Tavia dropped heavily into her chair.

Garrus touched the back of her hand, silently interrogating her as Dr. T'Soni began to pace.

Tavia twitched her shoulders. She felt a bit woozy, but otherwise fine. To prove it, she poured herself a glass of water, which she sipped. To her relief, her hand exhibited only fine tremors which stopped in short order.

"All this time," Dr. T'Soni murmured, moving her hands agitatedly. "All my research! I never dreamed…" she paused to turn back, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"She is _way_ too excitable," Tavia breathed.

"Uh-huh," Garrus agreed.

Given the grim looks on Ashley's and Kaidan's faces, they agreed.

"The images were so… so _vivid_! I never imagined they'd be so _intense_."

Could she stop talking in italics? It was annoying, Tavia thought sourly.

"Damn. Now I'm starting to get curious," Garrus teased, elbowing Tavia gently. "There's gotta be some weird alien tech somewhere—"

"I've learned to like you, Garrus. Don't get deviant," Tavia responded, elbowing him back and trying to supplant morose irritability with humor.

"You—" Dr. T'Soni, seeing she did not have Tavia's or Garrus' full attention stopped, blushing. When she had it again, she continued a little less manically. "You are remarkably strong-willed, Commander. What you've been through, what you've seen… it would have destroyed a lesser mind." She seemed to wilt as she said it, as if belatedly remembering her conversation with Shiala.

Tavia had the impression Shiala had warned Dr. T'Soni to be exquisitely careful with the damaged goods that were Tavia Shepard's little grey cells.

"But did you see anything?" Kaidan asked.

"Anything _pertinent_ ," Ashley added hurriedly.

Tavia wondered what she'd missed during those brief moments of joking with Garrus.

"It's just as the Commander said," Dr. T'Soni said. "It's a warning, and a map. But both beacons were damaged. I can see where they overlap, but both are missing chunks of information—large chunks, I believe."

"So we haven't made any progress?" Tavia asked, crestfallen.

"Oh, I didn't say _that_ ," Dr. T'Soni responded, holding up her hands. "If _you're_ missing it, then Saren will be missing it as well—unless he found another beacon."

Triangulation. Great. "We need to find him, then." Tavia pinched the bridge of her nose. She hoped she and Saren were still on even footing with regards to the information needed to find this Conduit. Knowing he needed another beacon to triangulate position was reassuring… but beacons were rare.

"Still working on it," Garrus answered, patting her wrist, all levity gone. "Don't worry. At least we know he can't be that far ahead of us."

"If we can't find him, maybe we can find Benezia. You can _interview_ her and see what happens," Tavia mused. She knew Garrus would catch the meaning as having the context he used in his story about Dr. Saleon and she wasn't disappointed.

Garrus didn't grin, but his mandibles twitched as if he meant to and his subvocals spiked in amusement. "Sounds good. I don't expect him to bail her out."

"All the more reason for her to cooperate." Tavia glanced at Dr. T'Soni, noticed how the asari's expression had drawn and tinged purple at this casual discussion of her mother as an aiding force to one of the galaxy's biggest threats. "Are you feeling alright, Dr. T'Soni? You look a little woozy."

"The joining is exhausting, and your mind is very strong. Even without the usual human subconscious' resistance to such a melding, you consciously don't want me there. That makes it difficult. Especially since I don't want to hurt you." Her words were more than a little stiff as she tried not to show her disapproval, or give reasons why things weren't how they looked with regards to her mother.

"Thank you, for being careful," Tavia said, getting to her feet. "Maybe you'd better go get a little rest. Doc, maybe give her a once-over?"

Dr. Chakwas did not protest, and it was with some relief that Tavia watched her transfer her caring eagle eye onto someone else.

"I tell you what," Tavia muttered under her breath to Garrus, "if I never have to do that again I will die happy. I've come to the conclusion that asari just _aren't_ my thing."


	17. Chapter 17

Garrus: Jitters

"Skipper, this is _such_ a bad idea," Ashley said for the third or fourth time.

Tavia shook her head. "We're still waiting for those leads to pan out, right Garrus?"

"That's right," Garrus agreed, checking his sniper rifle before looking over at Tavia in her lightweight armor. So much for 'the Alliance gets pissy about dead civilian contractors.'

"It's not a big heavy cruiser and even if it's filled with mercs, he can only fit so many guys in there. I think it's, what, twenty-odd at most?" Tavia asked, though she knew full well that was the most accurate number for that particular model. It wasn't a troop transport vehicle, after all.

"Twenty-odd. Right. Assuming he's got the place filled to capacity—and there's no evidence of that." Garrus' heart fluttered and he knew that he needed to calm down or his shots would veer in the direction of his jitters. He'd noticed that Tavia was quiet today, more so than usual, almost introspective. It was strange, since she usually projected an aura of amiability that encouraged people to come to her.

He'd checked the calendar for clues, but they were still five months out from the anniversary of Akuze, when he would expect odd behavior. All he could do, he'd decided, was to wait and see if it would pass or if she would open up to someone. Maybe to Ashley. Tavia and Ashley were pretty tight.

"No offense, Skipper—"

"I'm notoriously hard to offend," Tavia answered, checking her pistol before jamming it into its holster. Her combat knife followed, going into a calf sheath.

"—but aren't you supposed to stay _out_ of combat?" Ashley finished delicately, as if reminding Tavia of some higher-up's directive for which she, Ashely, was responsible… or for which she could be held responsible. "Something about Admiral Hackett or Captain Anderson being _very emphatic_ on that point?"

"If you want to come with, Ash, all you've got to do is ask," Tavia answered, strapping a small technician's kit to her belt before checking her standard assault rifle.

In a space as small as the private cruiser they were about to board, a sniper rifle was a bit silly. He didn't mind being silly. He liked this gun… and it liked him.

"It's good practice for Tali," Tavia concluded. "Just in case all this brain-crap liquefies my grey matter and I can't do my job."

Garrus snorted at this. There was no way Tali would or could replace Tavia as a coordinator. And it was not as though he intended to bring Tavia into any real combat. This… this would barely classify as a skirmish. Especially once Tavia had a line into the ship's systems. She could seal wherever she was and vent the rest of the ship, or parts of the ship, could kill air recycling, any part of life support really, or just bottle up opposition somewhere that they couldn't cause any trouble.

"Relax, Ash, I'll be fine. Garrus is going, after all."

"I know."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence, Chief," Garrus declared dryly.

"No problem," came Ashley's sardonically unperturbed answer.

"Just keep an ear open. If any messages from Anderson or the Council come through, let us know," Tavia instructed.

"Anderson?" Garrus asked. That was new, usually Tavia did not mention anything about whether Anderson contacted her or not—he knew the Captain did and did so regularly on a personal basis. He had the impression that Anderson and Tavia were starting to patch up in earnest.

That was good.

"…ask me about it later," Tavia answered.

Garrus felt a distinct lancing pain through his psyche that she didn't want to tell him what was bothering her. First her gloomy mood, now stonewalling Ashley… was she sick? Was that it? But it had been days since Dr. T'Soni last messed with Tavia's head. Surely if there were any lingering effects…

Maybe this was just the wrong place, something she didn't want an audience for… or because they were pre-mission and she didn't want anyone's focus disrupted.

He'd forgotten her halo had subharmonic monitors.

"I didn't mean it like that," Tavia said, knocking his elbow with the back of her hand. "I mean ask me later; I need my head on the mission and not on problems that aren't even problems, yet."

"Right, sorry. I just… I worry."

"As a good CO should," Tavia agreed. "Let's go see if we can find ourselves a scumbag."

Garrus nodded sharply, following Tavia up to the airlock.

Garrus: Dr. Heart

The ship proved a ghostly wreck. They didn't go in far, just far enough or Tavia to find a place to synch into the main systems. "Alright, Tali. I'm feeding you the security cameras. Tell me what you see."

" _There's a morgue. I also see one salarian bunkered down in what looks like a medical bay. He's armed and looks distinctly nervous._ "

"Feed us both an image of the salarian and run a facial analysis against the C-Sec documentation Garrus pulled for us," Tavia commanded. "I've got the ship locked down and scrambled the security codes. No one gets out of a room unless we let them out.

" _There's a match, one Dr. Saleon. It's an outstanding warrant for his arrest…_ _eew! Was he really doing_ that _?_ "

"Better than some of the psychos, but bad enough. Yeah," Garrus answered. His skin prickled, almost itched, where carapace didn't cover it.

" _Be careful, Tavia. There're_ _a_ _lot_ _of dead bodies between you and him._ "

Tavia simply nodded, unperturbed.

What was to be feared from a corpse? Unless it was a horror flick, Garrus mused as he and Tavia started forward. The silence of the ship and the bodies everywhere made for a grisly setting. It looked to Garrus like Dr. Saleon wanted to pass all this off as being the sole survivor of a pirate attack—or something of that nature. It certainly looked like a rush job—most of the corpses still bled freely on the ground, multicolored life-bloods mingling in slow-oozing puddles.

How many, he wondered, would have two or three hearts, extra lobes of liver, pancreas, kidneys, loop after loop of intestines? He quelled his nerves, pausing at an intersection until Tavia indicated which way he should go. He was glad to have Tavia with him, but he was with Ashley: she really didn't belong in the field. He had a feeling his ass would be chewed if it ever got back to Anderson. Reckless endangerment or something.

He also agreed with Tavia: she wasn't made of glass and she knew he limits. He could trust her to know her limits…

…still, he'd rather she stayed the voice in his head than the rifle covering his six.

"Ready?" Tavia asked.

"Ready."

Tavia pounded on the door. "Systems Alliance! Anyone in there?"

" _He has the gun in his belt, but it's out of sight. Be careful, you two. Dr. Chakwas will flip out if she has to dig slugs out of anyone._ "

"You more than me," Garrus hissed softly to Tavia.

She grinned as she hit the door, Garrus going in first, she following.

"Oh! My!" the salarian threw up his hands, the very picture of shock. "I surrender!"

"This him?" Tavia asked, entrenched behind her rifle, one slender finger slipping from the trigger guard to the trigger itself.

He understood why: she liked to cover her bases. Check and double check to make sure she didn't kill the wrong person.

"…are you… here in response to my distress call?" Dr. Saleon asked nervously, looking from one to the other.

"You could say that," Tavia answered.

"Oh, thank goodness! I only wish I'd gotten it off sooner. But, you know—"

"Save it, Saleon," Garrus rumbled. His trigger finger started to itch.

"Saleon? What's he mean 'Saleon'? I'm Dr. Heart… I thought you were Alliance—" the salarian began to jabber as though genuinely confused and afraid. It was a pretty good act, just like his so-understanding routine about overzealous C-Sec officers and their admirable dedication to protecting the station from freaks with scalpels.

"I used to be. My ship definitely is. Him… not so much. And I should warn you, he hates being jerked around."

"I don't believe this," the doctor mumbled, "first pirates, now crazy turians…"

"Not so very crazy," Garrus answered. "But, yeah, I'd harvest your organs before taking you in. Kind of apropos, don't you think? Too bad we don't have the time."

Tavia could probably walk him through it, if ICT was anything like turian special forces. She sometimes made it sound like she had working knowledge of the internal organs of the Council species… and maybe a couple more.

True realization, comprehension, and recognition crossed the doctor's face. He was dead before it fully suffused his flabby features, the instant he reached behind him for the gun Tali said he carried. He was dead either way, he wasn't fast enough to shoot them both, but it was better for none of the so-called home team to be picking out slugs.

"Too bad we couldn't save his subjects," Garrus said. "How'd he know we were coming?"

"Maybe he got word someone was still looking for him. Maybe he just needed to jump ship, find somewhere else to be, and would have settled for the first cruiser to come along," Tavia reasoned. "Doesn't matter. He's dead now." She pulled up her omnitool and scanned for lifesigns. "Doesn't get much deader." She drew her pistol and put a round in his head. "Just in case."

"I like your 'just in case,'" Garrus declared as they turned to head back to the _Normandy_.

"So, what was your answer to Nihlus's question? Just as a point of curiosity?" Tavia asked.

"It's not about making him pay, or getting back at him because he gave me the slip. It's about making sure he never does anything like this," Garrus gestured darkly to the now-ghost ship, "again. _Ever_ again. And now he won't."

"Sounds good to me."

Tavia: Fess Up

"Are you ready to talk to me, now?" Garrus asked as he settled across from her in the almost empty mess.

Tavia took a deep breath then let it out slowly. It was difficult to discuss the topic as it butted against several sore spots she thought scarred over; on the other hand, Garrus had shared his Dr. Saleon issue and that definitely chafed a few raw spots with him. And there was something in his expression—which she was learning to interpret with a little more accuracy—that told her he'd be disappointed and maybe even a little hurt if she didn't at least tell him what was bothering her.

She sighed again. "I had an Alliance Admiral contact me, said Anderson gave him my information. That was what I was waiting on and, yes, Anderson really did put him in contact with me. This is all legit. His name is Kahoku. Apparently he's had a unit of marines go missing."

Her stomach clenched at the thought. She had been a missing marine. It was probably why Anderson had put Kahoku through to her. She could do something about it faster and having been a missing marine _would_ do something about it as quickly as her friend-with-Spectre-clearance could wrangle.

She was not above such tactics, though she did feel uncomfortable asking for help. Still… she'd do worse if it meant bringing those soldiers home.

"Missing?" Garrus asked, cocking his head.

"Yeah. They were supposed to be doing a routine recovery, but something happened. They got to the Sparta system and just…" she made a whooshing sound and wiggled her fingers. "Gone. I was…" The words got stuck in her throat, so she bit her lip. It was one thing to think it; it was another to have to say any of it out loud.

"Hoping we might find the time," Garrus finished gently.

She looked up, grey eyes meeting blue. Her head began to shake reflexively. "I've been part of a missing unit, Garrus. It's one of the most awful things that can happen to a soldier." She hated letting even an ounce of that old fear, that old hurt, show, but she couldn't keep it out of her voice. "I know we're busy but… apparently so is the Alliance. The Admiral was on the Citadel trying to get Council help. Those men are—" her voice broke as memories of a time of cold, darkness, pain and loneliness rose up in her. They seemed strangely close to the surface.

"It's okay," Garrus said soothingly. The subharmonics monitor indicated his voice was full of soothing undertones. He took one of her hands in both of his. "I'm still waiting on that lead to pan out and it's kind of on our way back to the Citadel. We'll just have to cut leave short; no one will know because I haven't mentioned I wanted to arrange it. Get up to the galaxy map. Let's go get your men." He gave her hand a squeeze, then put it back down on the table.

"Thank you." She didn't trust herself to say anything else. Her eyes burned; she didn't need them to do more.

"Hey. I'm here for you, just like you've been here for me. It's corny to say, but… we really are a team," Garrus responded, giving her a kind of half-smile.

Tavia found herself smiling weakly back at him. It was a long way from their first meeting, during which she'd unloaded a slug to drop his shields. "I like it when you wear your cop hat."

"I keep it spiffy and to hand just for you."

This time her smile was genuine.

Tavia: Old Fears

Tavia did not announce it, but she now remembered how much she hated Mako drops. Kaidan was good at the landing, true enough, but still…

She was with Garrus: it was the looniest insertion method she'd ever heard about.

"So this unit goes missing," Kaidan prompted. "And now we've got a civilian SOS?"

"If they didn't answer it, it means they couldn't," Ashley said staunchly from her position up in the gun.

"That's about the whole of it. So, we answer this SOS, do what we can. If we don't find our guys at the SOS signal then continue the hunt. Kahoku hadn't heard anything new since I contacted him from the last comm buoy," Tavia answered. Her palms sweated and she felt nervous, keyed-up. It had been a long time since she'd ridden along in a Mako. She'd forgotten how bumpy the ride was. A lot was sacrificed for the plating and the thrust systems.

" _You're closing in on the signal,_ "Garrus' voice announced.

Tavia blessed the Spectre: he had known this was something she had to do herself and something that the Alliance crew would want to handle especially. Also, they were in the Mako—what was the worst that could happen?

"Hold it," Ashley called as Kaidan obediently braked. "I see the Alliance shuttle. Looks like they did get here."

"Pull us in, El-Tee: I don't see why it's not crawling with people. Or emergency markers." The lack of bright colored torches, easy to see signals of a distressed vehicle or unit, bothered her.

Tavia suddenly felt a deep, dark feeling of dread as they approached the distress beacon. Then she saw it, a faint swatch of Alliance blue.

Suddenly, she didn't see Edolus any longer, but another world full of sand and bits of Alliance soldier and blue rags scattered around an innocuous SOS beacon. "Get us out of here! Now now now!" Tavia screamed, unware of the shrillness in her voice or the way she tried to back up through her seat. Her mouth went dry as her eyes widened.

Kaidan was too slow on to respond to Tavia's sudden terror. Her shouts of 'now!' ended in a low gurgle in the back of her throat, a sound of abject terror as from fifty feet ahead a thresher maw erupted from the sandy ground. A long nondescript yellowish green body with a blue flag of a tongue, it twisted about, reacting to the vibration of the Mako's progress—

-T-

" _Alright, guys. We're here to get these civvies out in one piece," she declared as the transport shivered gently as they hit atmo. "Shouldn't be too hard. Get them into the transport as fast as you can, we'll do triage in here."_

" _You make it sound like a grocery run, Commander," Bellamy, her second, teased._

" _And_ _you_ _can grab the biggest, heaviest guy there, Bellamy. Help you keep focused on the job and not the Juju-Dots," she answered pointing at him._

" _Love you too, Shepard," Bellamy pouted before the pout gave way to a grin._

" _This place is pretty hostile, so breathers on."_

 _Fifty marines closed their helmets, soft hissing indicating full seals. There was something reassuring in the momentary tightening of her skin before pressurization re-equalized. The first few breaths had that weird, stale-synthetic smell, but that also passed._

 _The transport touched down, the hatch opening to reveal the sandy world's evening, everything a warm copper color that might have been pleasant if not for the blowing sand and the uneven footing it created._

 _Tavia hit dirt first, eyes narrowed behind her helmet's visor. The beeping, tweeting sound of the distress beacon was just up ahead… but the shuttle emitting it was half buried and looked strangely old. No emergency markers blinked to attract rescuers' attentions. No one came out of the vehicle, armed and ready to fight if the 'rescue' proved to be unfriendly._

 _Everything was still and wrong, even the lighting took on an ominous quality, as the marines filtered out of the transport._

 _Something wasn't right. Just as she started to open her mouth, the sand started to rumble under her feet. At first it was just dancing grains of sand, then they began to jump. She opened her mouth to shout to deploy the heavy turrets but again her words remained stillborn._

 _Screams made her whip around her own scream adding to the mix. She was just in time to see a long, snake-like body punch out of the ground, slamming into the transport. A second body erupted and spat something green at the unit before slamming the upturned transport from its side to its back._

 _Shrieks and screams of pain erupted from the soldiers it hit._

 _She swung her rifle off her shoulder and opened fire at the nearest thresher maw. All she could think was that rifles weren't enough against something like that… let alone two or more. "Toombs! Avril! Park!" She'd never seen a thresher maw before, had only heard of them as a kind of spacer's sea story. But no giant squid ever sent a shuttle flying like it was a child's toy._

" _I've got it, I've got it!" Toombs shouted, throwing down the heavy turret and smacking the auto-assembly._

 _The screams filled her ears as men writhed as though the green goo the worms spat was like acid. Others slid screaming into the vortex-like holes that opened as the maws burrowed back into the ground._

 _Maybe it was acid. She could hardly remember. Everything she knew about thresher maws said they were loners, preferring to avoid the company of their own kind except at mating season—whenever that was, no one seemed sure._

 _Another thresher maw—making four, no five—burst out of the ground, arcing over the transport like a dolphin before burrowing into the soil, catching the thing with its tail and sending the shuttle rolling like a model thrown by a petulant teenager._

 _The sounds of the heavy turret firing, far from driving the thresher maws off, seemed to pull their attention. It was only then that she noticed there weren't enough turrets actually sounding; some of them had either never got deployed or they'd been taken out of commission… and if they were silent, that meant the man assigned to the turret was dead or too wounded to get it going again._

 _Tavia had one moment to realize why she was suddenly airborne: one of the thresher maws had come up literally beneath her and Toombs, sending both of them and the heavy turret flying._

 _She hit the ground hard and rolled dazedly to a stop, caught against Bellamy's unmoving body. His expression was a mask of shock and horror. That was the horrifying moment that Tavia realized that she was not freezing up; there was simply no thinking faster than five or more thresher maws could change the dynamic, pinching thoughts off before they could even complete._

 _She realized it, but couldn't accept it. She was trained to think under pressure, not to lock up, freeze up, get her men killed because she wasn't mentally up to the pressures, stresses, stimuli that might assail them. The idea that even thoughts weren't fast enough was something she almost couldn't comprehend. So her mind settled on the one thing that made sense: she was freezing up and her men were dying because of it._

 _Someone yelled for her by name, an anguished cry that cut off too quickly. She turned in time to see a green blob flying at her. She turned heavily to take the blast with her back and shoulders, curling up and protecting her face with her arms._

 _It was pain unlike anything she ever experienced as the acid obliterated her shields and began eating through the mesh, even as she thrashed to work the noxious goo off or coat it with enough sand to stop the acid action. That was one thing she remembered: even if one got it off quickly, thresher acid burns were always worse than they originally looked. An eyedropper-full washed quickly away—even with chemical cleansing—could leave a wound the size of a poker token. Or it could leave an eyedropper-sized dot of dark red scarring with white ridges around the edges. It depended on the person and the thresher maw and how much mitigation was between the one's skin and the other's acid._

 _The one thought that could fully form and expand and it didn't do a damn thing to help. It was worse than freezing up._

 _Her shoulder and along her back burned as she rolled towards the much quieter, sparser screams of her unit. Blood spattered the sand and bodies or parts of bodies lay littered everywhere. The sand moved and rippled like water as the thresher maws, screaming the scream of damned souls, rose and up and slithered down like perverse parodies of dolphins at Port Resolution's best bay for swimming._

 _Her unit screamed for anyone who might hear them, but mostly for her—because she was the one who was supposed to know what to do, was supposed to be able to do something—_

" _Toombs!" she reached him as he tried to re-right the turret he'd dragged as far back as he could. Tears streaked her face, mingled pain and horror. If she'd had thought to spare, she'd have noticed hers was not the only face bearing that glittering evidence of everything gone so horribly wrong._

" _It's jammed!" he panted, favoring one side. "Commander—"_

" _Hang on!" she lurched over, mind white and trying to overload into shocked inaction. She pried the box open, hands shaking, grateful the turret had a gyroscopic cutoff to prevent it from firing wildly if it tipped._

 _What to do, what to do?_

 _Suddenly, she and Toombs were flying through the air again, this time one of the thresher maws had surfaced just in front of them. They tumbled along its back only to be hit by its tail. Tavia shot out a hand and caught Toombs by the web gear to try and keep them from being separated. Her arm and fingers screamed in protest, one hand insufficient to anchor their weights together._

 _The turret landed heavily, the firing assembly on its pivot wrenched completely out of form._

 _Damn…_

 _Tavia landed heavily a second later, her knee crumbling out from under her bad landing posture, sending screaming white pain through her that almost eclipsed the burning in her shoulder. She didn't know what to do. Her men were dying and she just didn't know what to do. And…_

… _was it eerily quieter than it had been, thresher maw screams aside?_

" _Shepard!" Toombs cried in agony._

 _She threw herself forward and started scrubbing at the acid covering his torso with sand. Anything to get it off. But that wasn't what he'd shouted about._

 _It caught her squarely, burning and stinging pain splashing across her back, knocking her forward into Toombs. Toombs, shouting incomprehensibly at her, rolled her, hoping the sand would cling to and/or mitigate in some degree the strength of the acid, just as she had tried to do for him and herself earlier._

 _They were going to die, Tavia thought as she rolled, trying to ignore the pain the tumble reminded her was there. She'd never make it far or set speed records on her knee. There was only one thing she could do._

 _The transport seemed to have been abandoned, the maws perhaps content that it was far enough away to be of no interest._

" _Toombs! Just run!" she grabbed the nearest rifle from the bloody hands of one of her men—hand attached to an arm but not to a body. She had to pry the grip loose, her stomach churning as she threw the severed limb away._

 _The rifle pattered at the nearest thresher maw and Toombs took off._

" _Head for the shut—!" her words were cut off when one of the thresher maws spotted her, or felt the gunfire and turned. Instead of throwing acid at her, it disappeared underground. "Run! Just run! Go!"_

 _Despite her attempt to attract and hold attention there was only one thing to do: Tavia sprinted as best she could on a ruined knee for the transport, aware that all around her consisted of sand, thresher maws, and body parts. Toombs understood what she meant him to do, for he made a beeline towards the shuttle. Suddenly, the ground under Tavia's feet began to disappear, draining like sand in an hourglass._

 _She threw herself back, opening fire at the forming mound._

 _When the thresher maw rose out of it, it had already begun recoiling from the gunfire peppering its face. It swept at Tavia with its head, flinging her across the battlefield and into the transport. She hit at an angle, her bad knee slamming against the ruined shell only for the rest of her weight to crunch into it a second later._

 _Toombs screamed desperately for help as one of them pulled him, his lower body hidden in the thing's mouth._

Garrus: Scars

Garrus watched Tavia as she sat in the medbay, shivering under a thermal sheet as she mutely faced Dr. Chakwas, tears seeping out from under her eyelids. She twitched and shivered as ugly old memories chewed at her.

"We need to find who did this," Ashley snarled, not for the first time. "We find them and we stick our boots up their ass. Or asses."

Kaidan shook his head, unusually pale despite his tanned skin. "I swear, Garrus, if she hadn't started screaming when she did, we've have been right on top of that thing when it surfaced."

Garrus nodded as he had to both these statements—which had been said and re-said several times.

From what he could tell, it had been Akuze all over again—the beacon, the maws, only this time there were no dead marines. Well, unless you counted the ones who originally responded to the call.

Tavia looked very small and fragile. He could still hear her post-Akuze interviews, that broken whimper in her tone, the disjointed sense of totality her rambling explanations expressed. It had been a horrible moment when he heard her start screaming. It had been worse when Ashley finally shook Shepard out of her flashback, to hear Shepard's attempts to stifle tears and profanity-punctuating-sobs cursing half the galaxy beginning with herself to oblivion and back.

Kaidan and Ashley had gotten away using the Mako's speed and the gun as a disincentive for the thresher maw to follow. The _Normandy_ had swung in and given the thresher maw two heavy shells to chew on then blasted the downed shuttle and its phony distress beacon into silence and flying shrapnel.

Unlike Akuze, this had not been a full nest, just one lone thresher maw. Garrus knew more about Akuze than Ashley and Kaidan. He knew that the likelihood of coincidence was low. The question was whether Cerberus had a particular victim in mind or if this was just 'on the off chance anyone showed up.' Probably the latter, since it had worked before. Or maybe it was an abandoned project and no one bothered to clean up after themselves.

What did Cerberus hope to gain from something like this? It made no sense. Was it spite? Spite for what? Or was it just some random thing: _Cerberus was here?_ It didn't make sense and it bothered him, the lack of sense represented.

It was hard to think that, just an hour ago, confirmation of his next destination had arrived and he'd been waiting patiently for Tavia to return in order to talk it over with her.

Once Saren was taken care of, Garrus promised himself, he'd make Cerberus a priority. They couldn't be allowed to do this sort of thing with impunity which, it seemed, they currently were. He would make a report back to the Citadel; maybe 'Spectre' would carry more weight, garner more concern, than the word of an Alliance Admiral.

It pissed him off to see steady, capable Tavia reduced to a shivering tearful wreck. It seemed… an indecent display for an audience to witness…

And he blamed Cerberus for making her suffer like this.

Tavia: Nightmares

Tavia's skin burned and her knee ached so badly she wished Dr. Chakwas would just cut the damn thing off and space it with the rest of the garbage. She knew, philosophically, that these were just phantom pains, brought on by a horrible perversion of déjà vu. Her body, however, screamed that the acid was still working on her skin, that her knee was next to useless, that her body was bruised and broken.

Six minutes. That was how long, as it turned out, it took the thresher maws to wipe out fifty-eight marines and ruin one troop transport beyond saving. She'd found the pilot dead in the cockpit. Best she could tell, he'd survived the initial impact but instead of remaining strapped into his seat to wait had unhooked his harness to try and help.

He never made it out of the ship.

She took a shuddering breath, trying to calm herself or at least stop the tears. Her ears kept ringing and no amount of pressing her hands against them would soften the echoes indelibly etched into memory.

She did not look forward to facing Kaidan's and Ashley's sympathetic looks. Even more than that, she did not look forward to trying to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw clips of Akuze, as though her brain had cued it and looped it so that no matter what she did she saw footage of that awful day.

Six minutes by the chrono, it had taken an eternity to someone who was there.

She managed to get to her quarters without anyone detaining her. Garrus drew no attention to his presence in the mess; Ashley and Kaidan were both mercifully absent.

Once inside her quarters, she peeled off her shirt, feeling at the skin on her shoulder. Very little damage was visible when she was fully dressed; she chose her outfits with the sole goal of hiding the damage. The acid, although mitigated by the sand, had done its job and done it well; she had always been amazed it hadn't eaten right through her, killed her between initial exposure and the arrival of help. But it hadn't.

The scarring, a dark pink strangely veined with white, as though worms slithered across the damage, was grotesque even to Tavia herself. It was ridged in the between-plates portions, having quickly worked through the mesh. The plates took more to eat through, and the sand had helped slow the acid's crawl, but the damage was still ugly.

Part of her wondered if that was why her relationships never got very far: if she found the scarring utterly repulsive, what would a partner think? She had landed badly on her knee that first time, had forced it to work beyond what it was capable of, and then hand another bad landing—a bad slam—into the upturned shuttle. Acid had been icing on a very painful cake.

A gentle knock made her pull her shirt hastily back over her head. Once it was in place, shirttail tucked in, she called, "Enter."

The door opened to admit Garrus. "Hey."

"Hey," she answered, trying to sound as though nothing was wrong. It didn't work: it would be hard for things to get more wrong.

"Doc give you a clean bill of health?"

"Yeah. Pretty much." There was nothing physically wrong with her, though Dr. Chakwas gave her the talk about talking if she needed to talk. Tavia's answer was the same she'd given after those first few rounds with the Alliance's shrinks: no, thank you.

She wasn't fine, but she remembered the interrogations a little too vividly, and those had soured her on 'I'm here to talk if you need to talk.' She'd talked it over and over again before they sent her to the head doctors. She'd promised herself never to put herself in the position of being left alone with question-asking people like that ever again.

"Kaidan and Ashley are fine—I asked them to give you a little space," Garrus declared, sitting down in her desk chair.

"Thanks." She could handle being bombarded with 'are you alright?' but wasn't sure she could handle much else. If she didn't have to deal with it though… so much the better.

"I also have a new lead lined up. Figured you might prefer work, something to keep you occupied." He said it gently, almost testing whether he'd understood her character correctly.

"I would _love_ something to keep me occupied," Tavia said, shaking her head. Then, almost to her surprise and very softly, "I still have nightmares about it, sometimes. It hangs around at the periphery mostly, like a ghost or something. Then, some days, it just comes at me. I'm not sure I want to know what's going to happen with everything made fresh again."

"Phantom pains?" Garrus asked.

Tavia nodded. Her nostrils flared as she swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "I couldn't save them, Garrus. Those things tossed us around like shuttlecocks, knocked us around like bowling pins." She shuddered visibly. Oddly, it didn't bother her to broach the subject with Garrus. Maybe because he'd shared his big bad day with her. " _Damn_ them!" she hissed, thumping her fist on the bedcovers, fresh tears glittering in her eyes.

"Hey," Garrus touched her good knee. She looked from the alien digits to the alien face and, oddly enough, found reassurance there. "When Saren's done with, we'll start looking into Cerberus. Who knows how many times they've pulled this stunt. I won't let them keep doing it."

Tavia gave him a half smile. She believed he wanted to; she was fairly certain he wouldn't be permitted. Spectres, the Council would no doubt point out, have better uses for their time than running down shadowy organizations, the existence of which was dubious given the scant evidence. It meant something that he wanted to. "You know what the worst part was?"

"Hmm?"

"One of them survived. One of Anderson's units found him killing off scientists. He knew more than I did, knew that Cerberus was responsible for Akuze. Supposedly, the scientists he'd been killing belonged to them."

"Where is he now?"

Tavia swallowed and closed her eyes. She could still see Toombs as he was, a bit of a cutup, like Bellamy, and great company off-duty. She'd never had such a great drinking buddy.

"He was cornered by one of Anderson's units, like I said. They couldn't talk him down. He killed the last scientist and then turned the gun on himself. I wasn't… if I'd been _there_ I could have stopped him, could have reasoned with him!" Tavia broke out, putting her face in her hands. "I could have saved him. Instead, I failed him. _Twice_." Tears began to fall in earnest, sobs shaking her whole body in spite of her efforts to suppress them. When she found she couldn't, she stopped trying. The best she could do was grab a pillow and planted her face in it to muffle the sound and hide the shameful display

"Hindsight is supposed to be twenty-twenty…" she continued, swallowing hard. "You're supposed to be able to see how you should have done something when you have the benefit of hindsight. But I still can't see what else I could have done except not go there. Maybe another fly-around with the shuttle? But I was with my men, I wouldn't have seen anything. You've seen my record, you have to have," she looked up at the benign, plated face. "What would _you_ have done?"

"I'd have died," Garrus answered, unperturbed. "You're right. I did read the reports, and your deposition. That you survived was an amazing feat. You have a chance to make their deaths mean something: you've got that beacon's message in your head. Without the thresher maw attack, you'd have never found that first beacon. Their sacrifice means we have a chance to stop the Reapers. I think, deep down, you've already considered that. So cling to it. And when this is over, it's Cerberus' turn." This time, he gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Tavia nodded, noting that whatever her mind said about the skin there aching and burning, Garrus touch didn't make it worse. It seemed to reiterate that there was really nothing wrong with her physically.

"And you brought _this_ group back. It's something. If my opinion means anything… take what you can get."

Tavia nodded again.

"We're a team. If you need me, you know where I am. No pressure, though." With that, Garrus unfolded himself stiffly from the chair and withdrew, leaving Tavia to her thoughts.


	18. Chapter 18

Garrus: Noveria

She used her cane. Tavia never, if she could help it, used her cane. She might carry it, but only the way she might carry a sidearm, or how a turian schoolteacher might wield a pointer. It was just something that was there, just in case.

But she used it as they moved from the frigid docking bay to the entrance of Port Hanshan, the administrative center for Noveria. She leaned heavily on it, jaw tight as if set against pain, eyes narrowed.

It worried him: Kaidan, Ashley, and Tavia were never out of the Mako. She'd not taken any falls (that he knew about) or had any accidents (that Dr. Chakwas knew about). All he knew was that today—for the last few days—she seemed desperately dependent on her prop. Hers wasn't a limp anymore; it was a lurch, pronounced and painful-looking.

He was not the only one keeping an eye on her, he noticed. Dr. T'Soni hovered as if ready to catch Tavia if she staggered—unlikely, since the cold docking bay was remarkably ice free—and Tali hung around on her other side, less obvious but no less concerned.

The four-man security detachment stopped Garrus in his tracks. "That's far enough, please," the shorter of the two women declared, holding up a hand. She was tiny, closer to five feet than five and a half, with slanting dark eyes and an oval face.

"Is there a problem?" Garrus asked, matching the doll-faced woman's even tone.

"You'd better hope there isn't," the blonde woman beside her growled, expression harsh and uncompromising. Big, almost strapping, she gave the impression of an attack dog on a leash.

"This is an unscheduled arrival," the brunette continued evenly. "I will need your credentials."

"Understandable. I'm Garrus Vakarian, Council Spectre. Do I need to authenticate?" he prompted his omnitool.

"Load of horseshit, ma'am," the blonde growled.

Garrus scowled at her. On a world like Noveria—which Tavia indicated was a corporate interest and almost extralegal in every way—the rules were different and a Spectre was about as welcome as flaking plates.

"I'm afraid I will need to confirm them," though the brunette shook her head to her aide as if suggesting the blonde woman dial back. "I'm also afraid I cannot simply take your word for it before confirmation comes down, Vakarian-san. Until then, no weapons are permitted on Noveria—"

A soft laugh made Garrus whip about. "Is that Maeko?" Tavia asked, limping out from behind Kaidan and Garrus with a grin that didn't quite light up her face. It was better than any smile she'd dredged up during the last few, though. "Ms. Maeko Matsuo?"

"Shepard-san." Ms. Matsuo's face opened, some of her professional manner dropping; her pleasure at seeing Tavia seemed genuine. "It's good to see you again."

Garrus cocked his head. Interesting.

"You too." Tavia limped further forward and held out a hand for the woman to shake, a gesture the officer did not reject but returned warmly. "You walked away from me for _this_ rock?" Tavia put her weight on one knee so she could gesture delicately at the floor with her cane before returning her prop to the ground and leaning on it again.

Ms. Matsuo glanced worriedly at Tavia's knee. "What can I say? I like a posting I can keep neat and orderly—not like that chaos you manage."

Tavia's grin became varren-ish. "Garrus, team, this is Ms. Maeko Matsuo of Elanus Risk Control Services—our offices did a little business together a few years back." Tavia shifted her footing, winced, then returned to her original distribution of weight. "We… may also have shared a cooler cell. Just until things got ironed out."

Ms. Matsuo chuckled at this, looking mildly guilty but no less amused for that. "Good times, Shepard-san, and it's Captain while I'm on station if you please." And, like that, the professionalism slid back into place—though the smile lingered.

"My apologies, _Captain_ Matsuo," Tavia amended quickly, flashing the woman a grin that was more genuine than any pleasant expression she'd worn for some days.

"Unfortunately, Noveria is still a weapons-free zone. Perhaps especially if you are here Shepard-san."

Tavia winced, but this time for dramatic effect. "It's as if you don't trust me to behave myself."

"It's _exactly_ as if I don't trust you to behave yourself," Capt. Matsuo answered sweetly. "Sorry, Shepard-san, but first impressions are lasting impressions." She eyed Tavia's cane again as if Tavia's reliance on it puzzled her.

"Tavia?" Garrus rumbled uneasily.

He didn't like the look of the blonde woman, who seemed to be itching for a fight, even if she'd yielded to her superior's silent request for patience.

"The Captain's going to budge on this. Either we wait shipboard for your clearances to authenticate or we can wait in a no doubt charming interrogation block. I don't think disarming is a good idea, rules or no rules," Tavia answered.

"You haven't done anything yet, Shepard-san," Capt. Matsuo agreed. "Unfortunately, waiting shipboard is not an option—not if Vakarian-san's clearances fail to authenticate. You understand, we cannot simply allow anyone masquerading as a Spectre to run amok."

"I'm not having an injured crewman detained on a maybe," Garrus answered as calmly as he could. But he knew a thing or two about detention blocks… and Tavia's personal history. "The closest thing to compromise we're going to get is if I have a chair brought in for Tavia. We can all wait here and be annoyed with each other." This he shot at the blonde.

"Your will have my apologies if everything turns out to be legitimate," Capt. Matsuo said in a tone of 'with all due respect.'

It was hard to argue with Capt. Matsuo, as unfailingly polite as she was… but he'd find a way.

"I don't like this, Tavia." Garrus rumbled. For all Capt. Matsuo's politeness, the blonde woman at her shoulder rubbed him the wrong way even when she didn't say anything. He had a bad vibe and Garrus had no intention of letting anyone go anywhere unarmed.

"I'm not happy about it either, Garrus, except that—"

" _Capt. Matsuo! Stand down!_ " a voice from overhead demanded, tinged with more than a little nervousness.

"Ah," Tavia smiled.

" _Specter Vakarian is authorized to retain his firearm._ "

Capt. Matsuo regarded Tavia, then the armed party around Garrus. "We should speak to Parasini-san about the rest of your party, Vakarian-san. Please, it's this way." She turned on her heel and was immediately followed by Tavia.

"Nice gal," Ashley muttered.

"You're limping awfully bad," Garrus rumbled as he caught up to Tavia, who limped stoically after Capt. Matsuo.

"Phantom pains. I don't usually have to live with them, but they're a real bitch when they show up," Tavia answered back in an undertone he doubted anyone but the very sharp-eared—like himself—would catch. "Easier to appease my stupid brain than tough it out. I'm fine, really."

Garrus nodded, relieved. Phantom pains he could understand and those could easily be dealt with. He supposed it anyone would have them it would be Tavia. Especially after that last incident.

Tavia: Old Faces, New Faces

"It's _green_!" Tavia cried happily. "I have _never_ seen one of these in green." She picked the glass up and turned it to admire the apple-green liquid with its tiny golden bubbles.

"They never serve blue drinks on Noveria if it can be helped Tavia, it's bad for morale," Capt. Matsuo—Maeko, now that she was off duty—answered, sipping her own drink. "You even have trouble getting salt on the rim of a margarita—the salt is like ice, you know, and there's a great deal of it here."

"No kidding?" Tavia asked. It was a weird thing to take into account but, given the storm outside, she supposed she could see the wisdom. Port Hanshan was a city in a box, part concrete bunker, part hothouse. The moisture content in the air was enough to make the heat stick. The moisture wasn't doing Garrus any favors, but with such a mixed-species population happy mediums were at a premium. "Maybe they should start coloring the crystals."

Still, better the heat than the cold if one had to have a temperature get into one's bones.

"I'm sure many would agree with you," Maeko answered, shaking her head as she sipped her own flamingly pink Armali Sunrise.

"So who's the crazy blonde?" Tavia asked, settled comfortably in the Port Hanshan bar's lounge with Maeko, toying idly with her Serrice Fusion. "She looked like she was dying to have a go at Garrus." The booze was providing a wonderful distraction from her knee and now that she wasn't standing on it, the phantom pains had temporarily subsided.

"That would be Lt. Stirling. She's a good lieutenant, very driven. Perhaps a bit too much so, but security is very important here. As the Administrator would tell your Spectre, Noveria is a paragon of privacy," Maeko answered. "She… may enjoy testing her limits but I have never had complaints from her turian coworkers. Or any of them, come to think of it."

Maybe because she hid their bodies out in the ice. Tavia snickered at the thought, but wasn't about to share it. Maeko took business matters both seriously… and personally. "Huh. Been working with her long?"

"About eight months. I've had no real complaints, only that she can be a bit… forceful. But we are women in the security business. You and I both know that 'forceful' is sometimes the only way to be."

"That's true enough." During the course of both her careers, she had had to assert herself (to varying degrees) on more than one occasion—more often with krogan or turians on the basis of being human than anything else.

"So have you left Bulldog Security to travel with this Spectre?"

"Oh, no. I'm contracted with the Alliance—I know, I didn't expect that, either," she appended when Maeko tried to laugh and ended up trying to fight down the sip of her Armali Sunrise she'd choked on rather than spraying it everywhere. "I run the ship you saw in the docking bay—I've got the Alliance senior officer on one side and Spectre Vakarian on the other."

"Like grease between gears," Maeko nodded, dabbing at her watering eyes. "I understand."

Tavia nodded. Her mother captained the _Orizaba_ and was happy; so much so one would have to use the jaws of life to pry her from her ship. Tavia, on the other hand, had never wanted her own ship to command. She's been too much involved with operations and had been a good operations ground coordinator. Here, she did more or less the same thing, but from the ship rather than somewhere closer to the action.

"You're more right than you know." Pressly did not make much noise or fuss, respecting that she had been Alliance formerly. But he was not fond of all the aliens, even if he kept his opinions quiet. "So how do you think the firearms thing is going to play out? Garrus is…" Tavia twirled her fingers.

"A Spectre is authorized, of course, but his unit is not. There is no exception to this rule—barring the case of Spectres and that's just to keep the peace. It depends on what he and his team are doing that will answer your question with regards to leaving Port Hanshan."

The two women shared a smile. When on duty, Maeko was the paragon of law-abiding, rule-and-regulation-touting. Privately, she showed her true pragmatism and much more pleasant disposition.

"I hope you will keep your people… I would not like to deal with any incidents between your people and mine, Tavia. The gunnery chief with you looked exceptionally cross."

"Ashley's alright. We… had a mission go sideways." She shivered inwardly, setting her drink down so it didn't slosh and betray the shakes in the hand holding it. "I think she was worried you might count my cane as a weapon. ICT, you know."

"I am conscious of the rules but I would not be so rude. You old wound hurts you still?" Maeko's face twisted into a genuine concern that made Tavia wish it were disingenuous. Then she could complain about it.

"Let's just say I've had a relapse," Tavia answered, waving to the nearest waiter over. "I'll get this round." After ordering, she came to her point. "Hey, Maeko. I need to ask if someone's come through here, lately. Asari Matriarch Benezia. She might have had a turian with her. Kinda short, really ugly—might have been passing himself off as a Spectre."

Maeko blinked. "Benezia-sama?" she snorted. "I've already said too much just admitting she did. Privacy, Tavia. This _is_ a corporate installation."

Tavia sighed, leaning on the table and lowering her voice. She didn't expect much in the way of conversation, but forewarned was forearmed and Maeko took her duties seriously enough to be ready even on off chances. It was what made her such an effective head of security. "You heard about Eden Prime? She's helping the orchestrator. If she's here, it's trouble. I'm not asking you to tell me anything but if she brought any, say, like crates with her—big ones…"

Maeko's expression didn't change, but Tavia noticed the intensity with which she listened increased. So there _were_ big crates.

Shit.

"The man she's collaborating with, a disgraced turian Spectre, is in league with the geth—that's why they were on Eden Prime. My Spectre is the one that saved the colony. You have to look into those crates, scan them over, I'm talking the deepest checks."

"Tavia, you seem to think I don't do my job," Maeko reproved, but also in a low voice. So much so that she had to lean over for Tavia to hear her. " _If_ there were such crates, then they _were_ scanned for power supplies, element zero masses, anything that would indicate a potential threat. Accidents don't happen in Port Hanshan. I ensure it."

"Of course, I wasn't suggesting you didn't. Maybe I'm just being paranoid—but geth don't breathe. They don't fidget. They can be packed in large numbers into small spaces for long periods of time. Just saying."

Maeko settled back on her stool as Tavia smiled at the waiter who brought their drinks.

It would be asking too much for her to simply start an up-front conversation about sensitive matters in the middle of a Port Hanshan bar—even a ritzy one like this—but Maeko got the message and it would be enough… or so Tavia hoped.

"Are you going to be working from Port Hanshan or from your ship?" Maeko asked slowly, regarding the skewer with an ornamentally cut sunfruit on the end of it. It looked pretentiously ornate. So much so that Tavia imagined there was an asari somewhere in the food prep area whose sole job was to create frilly garnishes for people's expensive drinks.

"It depends on your administrator," Tavia admitted. "I'd prefer an office space here, but unless Garrus gets the clearances he needs, I'm not doing anything except window shopping."

Maeko chuckled at this. "Administrator Anoleis will probably try to deport you all. Watch how many toes you put across the line. I'll only send you back to your ship. Lt. Stirling might just send you flying. She's a biotic and proud of it."

Warning taken: she wasn't afraid to be rough with people. Sounded like more of a loose cannon than she would have expected from a station MAeko ran. Maybe 'eight months' with Stirling was just how long Maeko had been here and Stirling had bene an incumbent presence. That explanation made some sense of the Lieutenant's attitude: passed over for a captaincy she felt she deserved. She wouldn't be the first to feel resentment, even if she kept it reined in around the one she resented.

Still, bad policy to take that kind of thing out on others: it showed she wasn't good material for _the_ leadership position. Or maybe Tavia was just doing the woman a disservice: it would be that Stirling was just trying to show she was good at what she did, one hundred percent effort all day, every day, dedicated.

Or, as Ashley put it, 'maybe she's just a bitch.'

"If you do end up staying, with your limp so bad, I might wish to deploy one of my men to keep you company." Maeko promptly disappeared behind her second Armali Sunrise, slowly savoring the rich flavors that trademarked asari and asari-inspired drinks.

She also held out the skewer of sunfruit to Tavia, just as she'd done the first. Maeko detested sunfruit, however ornamental someone made it.

Waste not: this was some of the ripest, most succulent sunfruit she'd ever had the pleasure of tasting. Corporate usually got better supplies than the military, but Noveria took the corporate-world comforts cake. "You mean so I don't blow up half of the Port," Tavia grinned after eating the sunfruit and poking the skewer into her own drink which she began to stir thoughtfully. It was an overblown myth about marines blowing things up, but it was a myth of which she was rather fond and not afraid to fuel.

"Think of it as protection for everyone else, then," Maeko grinned. "If you were to reenact the Green Mouse here, I don't know what we'd do. Our medical facility is very small."

Tavia laughed at this. It felt good to laugh, even if the humor fled quickly.

Garrus: Recon

Garrus sat drowsing in the Normandy's mess deck, waiting for Tavia to come back. She'd abandoned everyone and wandered off—unarmed, which was stupid, he thought crabbily—into Port Hanshan.

No one had heard from her since.

"So, here's a thing. I might have convinced Maeko—Capt. Matsuo—to have a look at Benezia's crates. Deep scan, that sort of thing," Tavia announced, her businesslike tone waking him up abruptly as she sat down. The fumes of a bar hung around her and the way she propped her foot on the seat beside him with a sigh indicated that she still had phantom pain in her knee. "Benezia definitely _did_ come through here. We've got a foot in the door as long as we keep in mind how conscientious Maeko is while on duty. Word of law over spirit of law and you can't beat her off that stance with a crowbar while she's working. What's new with you?"

It did not surprise him that Tavia had taken the evening to cultivate Capt. Matsuo's friendship. Or prime the other woman for action.

"Anoleis is a roadblock but Noveria Internal Affairs is breathing down his neck. Apparently you can only be so corrupt before the board decides to do something about it," Garrus responded. "Took almost all day to get that much." He indulged in a profanity-laced complaint about bureaucracy, red tape, the civilian sector and anything else he could think about.

Tavia waited patiently until he was done. "Feel better?" she asked sympathetically, once he flopped his head onto his arms and groaned. Hesitantly, she patted his back, just below the scapular sweep of his cowl. With turians, reassuring or friendly gestures avoided the cowl, since it was such a heavily protected part of the body.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Maeko is willing to let me base coordination efforts out of Port Hanshan _if_ you get approval to do what you need to do."

"What justification is she using?" Garrus asked. The Normandy was safe, but Port Hanshan might have other resources currently going unmentioned. Like better lines of communication. He had his doubts about even the Normandy's systems in relation to the storm he'd watched blow up around the Port.

"She just doesn't want me blowing up half of Port Hanshan while singing _Casey Jones_. That's a shame—I have been reliably informed that I have a lovely singing voice. Ah, well," Tavia shrugged.

Her humor seemed a bit overblown, which could only mean she was still trying to stuff her lingering reactions to trauma into whatever suitcase she kept them in. "Anoleis says Benezia went up to Peak Fifteen, it's a remote research—"

Tavia's omnitool pinged. She glanced at Garrus, who nodded. "Tavia Shepard—oh, Maeko… You what? Oh, that _is_ bad. … Yeah, I know—no kidding. I'll be there ten minutes tops." Tavia hung up. "Maeko scanned Benezia's crates. The original scans turned up no element zero masses or power cores _but_ the in-depth scan recorded traces of eezo and a low-level shield frequency."

Garrus blinked. Tavia was usually good about keeping her tech-talk succinct enough for normal people to follow. Either he was really tired or she overestimated him. "Meaning?"

"Passive protection, meant to thwart the kinds of scans Benezia could expect even from the most conscientious security personnel; no one wants to offend an asari Matriarch, so most people really don't want to know what's in her crates. Luckily, Maeko is more than a little conscientious no matter who you are. Like she said: accidents don't happen in this port because she doesn't let them happen."

The pride in her friend was audible, as was the mild disappointment that she hadn't been able to secure Maeko for Bulldog Security.

"Listen, take Wrex, Liara, Tali and Ashley—take care of this problem. I'll take Kaidan. I've got a lead, I just need a distraction. This is perfect," Garrus said, scrambling to his feet. He didn't think he could have asked for a better distraction or security. He couldn't imagine Capt. Matsuo sticking his nose into corporate business… even if Anoleis was about as corrupt as… there wasn't even a good simile. Corporate pyjak.

Tavia braced herself to push out of her chair.

Before she could do so, Garrus held out a hand.

Tavia looked at it suspiciously, then took it and let him haul her to her feet.

He had the feeling she wouldn't have accepted such assistance so freely from most people.

"Don't worry. I'll find a way to excuse you," Tavia said, tagging him on the shoulder before limping off.

Garrus: First and Second

"I have never seen a place that uses bureaucracy this well," Kaidan confessed as he and Garrus slithered toward the Binary Helix labs.

"They could give the Citadel a run for their money," Garrus agreed. In an ideal world, they would be able to slip up and slip out unnoticed, nice and quiet. However, the world was far from ideal—

"Hey!"

…and had a stunning sense of irony.

"Busted," Kaidan muttered as a pair of Elanus Risk Control drones came hurrying up.

"Mr. Qui'in is under investigation. This area is off-limits—" the first began.

"Garrus Vakarian, Citadel Spectre," Garrus said boldly, throwing the title in the guards' faces. "There's a massive security problem in the garage—mechanical and it shoots at people. Does Capt. Matsuo know you're here?"

The verbal assault did exactly what he hoped.

"Hey, whoa, now," one of the guards said, putting her hands up. "Anoleis is the one with the varren up his ass about this Qui'in guy."

"I know. You need to go find the captain. She needs all hands to deal with a major problem," Garrus growled, pointing aggressively in the direction from which he'd come. "A _real_ shooting-up-your-duty-station big-ass problem."

Both Elanus goons exchanged a look before they hurried off, murmuring to one another agitatedly.

"I _love_ watching people scatter when you do that," Kaidan chuckled.

"Those buzzards couldn't run fast enough," Garrus agreed. "Come on."

Tavia: Second and First

"Where's your Spectre?" Maeko asked, frowning as Tavia and the rest of the ground team arrived.

"Where's your lieutenant?" Tavia retorted, noting the blonde's absence. Knowing Garrus had something going on that needed a distraction, Stirling's absence was hardly surprising.

The pert answer was not appreciated. "She said she had something to look into. We have several matters other than… this one," Maeko motioned to the shipping containers so innocently stacked. This is simply the greatest among them."

"Maybe they're having an affair. Garrus didn't tell me much, either. Above my pay grade, probably," Tavia answered blithely.

Maeko couldn't stop the disbelieving snort.

"He'll be with us as soon as he can. He promised, and Garrus delivers." The endorsement sounded strange coming out of her mouth; it wasn't one she usually put much faith in, so it wasn't one she usually gave.

"This place has a silent lockdown. If your Spectre is somewhere he shouldn't be, then he won't get very far," Maeko suggested innocently.

"Good. He's not supposed to be lurking about on his own, anyway. He gets into trouble. This is Tali'Zorah, she's my geth expert," Tavia beckoned Tali over.

"How do you do?" Tali asked.

"Thank you, Zorah-san. Your expertise will be greatly appreciated."

Tavia couldn't tell because of the helmet, but she could imagine Tali's blushing perplexity at the courteous deference. It wasn't something the girl was used to.

"I scanned over the crates after our talk—I'm not so proud as to ignore a warning, however spurious it sounds. These two containers," Maeko pointed, "register contents. Those three," she pointed to another stack. "Are empty."

" _Keelah_ … even _one_ of those containers could hold a _lot_ of geth," Tali breathed. "You're looking at a small army, Captain. Best case scenario."

Maeko's expression tightened as she considered the implications.

"That's okay, _we've_ got a small army. And these are still dormant—any idea why?" Tavia asked.

"Maybe they're waiting on a wake-code. Maybe there's some—"

Maeko tagged Tavia's arm and made a signal first for Tali to keep talking, then for silence, then to follow.

"—stimulus that hasn't been met, yet. It could be a lot of things," the quarian continued as Maeko led the team to a heavy case by the back wall. She opened it as Tali continued and motioned the assembled team to arm up.

Tavia checked the block and grinned: anti-synthetic rounds.

Maeko was _marvelously_ pragmatic. Tavia would bet hard cash Maeko had ordered a stockpile of anti-synthetic rounds after news of Eden Prime broke. Like she said: accidents didn't happen because she didn't let them.

Garrus: Psychotic Biotic

"They never mention all the smash-and-grab in the recruiting vids," Garrus murmured as he and Kaidan hastened away for the wreck of Lorik Qui'in's office.

"Hello… Spectre." Kaira Stirling pushed off the pillar against which she'd been leaning. "Put whatever you found down. Get down on the ground. Nice and easy."

"And the Captain had _so_ much faith in you," Garrus retorted. "Spectre business. Get out of my way. We're leaving."

His mimicry of her tone did nothing for Stirling's mood. "You think I'm just gonna let you walk out?" Stirling demanded.

"I don't _think_ I'm going to give you a choice," Garrus answered.

Beside him, Kaidan adjusted his footing, clearly ready to respond with serious force. Wise, since Stirling was a biotic and Garrus wasn't.

"Anoleis would just throw you out for what you've done here. Me? I like how we dealt with thieves back on my world." Stirling flexed a fist that glowed blue.

"You know," Garrus rumbled, feeling the skin around his fringe starting to tingle. "I always had this massive hate for crooked cops and crooked people who pass for cops." He did. He really did—all the crusading in the world, all the well-meaning work of good people always came to so little when some scumbag in a uniform surfaced.

Like Harkin—though he was more ass than scumbag.

"So let's talk about how cops handle people posing as cops."

Tavia: Geth Again

"If we get enough biotic power, we might just be able to crush—Garrus." Tavia looked up at the sound of heavy boots.

Maeko's security force and Tavia's own unit had moved out of the garage, lest their conversation be overheard or the possibility of threat wake the geth from whatever sleep mode they were in.

"Sorry I'm late, Tavia," Garrus declared, offering no more than that.

"Kaidan, there you are. We've got two shipping containers full of geth out there," Tavia pointed. "Tali's working on adapting a hack that Bulldog likes to use for stubborn VIs. However, Capt. Matsuo thinks that if we had enough biotic strength, we could simply crush the crates with the geth still inside.

"Like an aluminum can," Kaidan mused. "They warp under dark energy in the single. Might be more difficult if they're packed in tight. Like a full, unbreached can versus and empty one."

"Or Garrus, the Captain's guys and I could just pepper them with slugs," Ashley suggested, leaning forward. "Then you and Tali can frag their wiring while Kaidan, Wrex, and the Doc give them the twist." She made an illustrative hand gesture to emphasize her suggestion.

"I like Ashley's plan," Garrus declared, leaning on Tavia's folding chair, clearly brought in to ease her discomfort. "Maximum use of resources—though it's more dangerous than Tavia's plan."

"'Dangerous' is leaving those mechanical horrors where they are," Maeko declared as Tavia mouthed something (probably Ashley's name, because she immediately indicated the chief). "Frankly, I would rather crater the garage with them in it but, unfortunately, it cannot be done."

"I _knew_ you were a connoisseur of fine explosions," Tavia teased.

Maeko's mouth twisted as she tried not to smile. "I think that Williams-san's plan has the most merit. Caution is admirable, Shepard-san, but I think I would like this dealt with firmly and decisively."

"Do you have any biotics in your personnel pool?" Tavia asked.

"Aside from Sgt. Stirling, a few. I take it you wish them to collaborate under your asari friend?"

"No, I would like them to collaborate with Alenko, here." It felt odd to use his surname, but she knew how picky Maeko was about first names while on duty. "If you've got any defense turrets anywhere, I'd say let's bring those in—something between our guys and the geth."

Garrus: The Right Thing

Garrus took advantage of the time that Capt. Matsuo and Tavia wanted to take to set up their ambush to wake Lorik Qui'in. Although the question of a garage pass was still unanswered, Garrus felt that Tavia would be able to talk Capt. Matsuo around using the logic of: _it breaks the rules to let Garrus wander around unchecked, but Benezia brought_ geth _to Noveria. Maybe we'd better stop her—and Garrus is the one to do it._

Everyone had a point where spirit of law outweighed word of law; the only question was what that point was.

"Vakarian?" Qui'in asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning hugely. "Come in."

Garrus entered the suite, pausing long enough to admire how cushy a habitation the businessman enjoyed. It had a bed built for accommodate a turian frame—or, rather, the assembly of pads and pillows meant to allow a turian comfortable use of the galaxy-standard bed, which was almost as good as a real one—and real chairs meant to do the same.

"I hope you didn't run into much trouble?"

Stirling might have been the big bad biotic around here, but Kaidan had calmly demonstrated complete superiority. He knew Kaidan preferred a light touch when using his biotics on people, and knew why. However the biotic, in cold blood, applied a barrage the likes of which Garrus had not expected. It ended with a bullet from Garrus' rifle between a panting Lt. Stirling's eyes and Kaidan had yet to begin breathing hard.

"Mr. Qui'in. I finished your job," he produced the documents. "But you should know that there's an Internal Affairs agent sniffing around. IA wants you to testify against Anoleis."

"You retrieve my property only to tell me how to use it?" Qui'in demanded, his crest flaring with indignation.

Garrus crossed his arms, regarding the turian levelly. "No. I'm asking you to turian up and do the right thing."

"I have no interest in a public spectacle, Mr. Vakarian," Qui'in answered with forced placidity, drumming his talons on the nearest surface.

Garrus winced: 'Mr. Vakarian' was and always would be, in his mind, his father. "That little scumbag isn't fit to administer dinner pastilles. Everyone knows it but no one's willing to do anything about it." He dropped the evidence on the nearest surface. "Do whatever you want with it. Contact's name is on the back if you change your mind."

Noveria's internal affairs were none of his business and he had no intention of ending up elbow deep in them. He had enough trouble with geth and Benezia.

It was proof-positive that he _could_ pick his battles, something of which he'd been repeatedly accused of being unable to do.

Tavia: Well Oiled Machine

"On three," Tavia declared, regarding the garage which now looked like a warzone's frontline. Whatever the geth were waiting for, nothing had set them off yet. "Garrus, on your count."

"One."

The biotics, following Kaidan's lead, flared up. The air took on a charged feeling she was sure would have people's hair misbehaving one all this was done.

"Two."

Tavia, Tali, and a half dozen others cued their omnitools. Tavia and Tali both knelt beside heavy turrets. Maeko had some good techs: although industry standard Noveria had done the same as Bulldog and made improvements. She'd have to try remembering what they were—that was the only way 'proprietary configurations' got out—by memory.

Her nerves sang as Garrus let the last word fall. "Three."

Turret-fire and arms-fire hit the containers, peppering them with anti-synthetic rounds.

The crates burst open only to be pushed against and squelched by the combined efforts of Wrex, Kaidan, Dr. T'Soni and Maeko's handful of biotics.

Within the crates, power supplies popped and fizzled, shields dropped and flickered, weapons overheated under the careful direction of tech-minded individuals. It seemed like forever that the assault went on until finally it seemed as though the only reason the geth still moved was because of the onslaught they faced.

"Gunmen! Tech!" Maeko called.

The gunfire stopped, the electronics work stopped, but the biotics held everything in place.

"Scans say we've got them all," Maeko announced several long moments later. "No backup power supplies detected, nothing strange."

Tali spoke up when Maeko glanced at her. "Confirming the Captain's scans. I think we're good."

The biotics dropped the mangled containers and their wrecked contents, those with weapons keeping them pointed at the heaps of scrap. After five minutes of nothing happening, weapons hesitantly lowered. After ten minutes, Tali and Tavia exchanged looks. "I think we're clear," Tavia announced. "Alright. Let's pull out."

"Do you know any good recycling businesses?" Maeko asked, frowning at the wrecked geth and containers.

"Afraid not," Tavia answered. "Tell you what, though—I'll buy you a drink on your next shift off."

"I should buy yours," Maeko said soberly. "We wouldn't have known these were here until they attacked. I heard the damages on Eden Prime caused by these things were terrible."

Tavia did not say that she was glad someone, for once, was inclined to act cautiously rather than assume things were fine because they looked fine. "My teams down there said much the same thing. What happens now?"

"Now, I will ask you and your associates to return to your ship while I lift the Port lockdown and apprise Administrator Anoleis of these events," Maeko answered. "Then, we'll see what we shall see."


	19. Chapter 19

Tavia: Friendly, Unfriendly

"Whoa! Hello!" Tavia yelped as she turned out of the doorway and backed right into someone trying to pass through it.

"Careful, now." The box threatening to overbalance her—her knee still didn't feel right, although she did not feel as dependent on her cane today, even if she still needed it—was suddenly lifted out of her arms, and a hand appeared on her elbow to steady her. "Ms. Shepard, I presume?" a pleasantly-pitched voice with a slight warble in it asked.

Tavia regained her balance and regarded the owner of the helping hand. One did not see many drell in the galaxy; she knew them only as a footnote in ICT—the hanar saved them from their dying world. Now, the two species lived in a state of quasi-symbiosis.

"Yes. Thanks," she righted herself, studying the drell through averted eyes. People hated to be stared at, and it never made a good impression to indicate one was unused to seeing a certain species.

He was handsome this drell, apple-green and gold, a deep red throat frill disappearing under the collar of his Elanus Risk Control standard-issue armor. His golden-toned mouth seemed made to smile and if she was going to stare at something, Tavia knew it would either be the way the painted line over the divot in his lower lip moved or to watch the second set of eyelids, the most delicate membrane imaginable, open and close independent of his primary lids—one was an aesthetic consideration, the other a more scientific interest.

"Capt. Matsuo asked me to ensure you have all the assistance you require," he announced.

"Capt. Matsuo did, did she? Maeko fusses too much," Tavia smiled indulgently.

"Then allow me to be the gentleman and leave you to call her to check my story. In the meantime, where do you wish this taken?" he indicated the box.

This time her smile was rueful—she wasn't dealing with a moron here. She always checked stories like that, more out of habit than genuine concern. "Just there," she indicated the office space Maeko had appropriated for her. It looked like a kind of meeting room, semi-private and full of comfortable chairs. "Hey, Capt. Matsuo," Tavia called as soon as the drell was out of earshot.

" _Yes, Shepard-san? I'm a little busy. Your Spectre friend has left me quite the mess,_ " Maeko responding, sounding both put upon and a little irritated. She did like a neat, orderly posting, and Tavia mentally snickered. It was hard not to.

"I just had one of your ERCS guys come up to me. He wanted to carry my books home from school. You know anything about that?"

" _Yes, I did assign someone to see to your personal security. A drell, Sere Sedge. He arrived a couple weeks back, but he's been with ERCS for years. Leave him outside the door if you don't want him actually helping. I told him how independent you were._ "

"Right, thanks Captain," Tavia answered.

" _Of course, Shepard-san. Enjoy Port Hanshan._ "

"At the least those _very_ comfy chairs. You're an absolute saint."

" _Aren't I?_ "

Garrus: Long Drive

Garrus shifted in his seat. Turians notoriously did not like cold, snow, ice, or any permutation of the three. They were a warm-climate people! The drive to Peak Fifteen turned out to be peppered with geth, but didn't kill the enthusiastic admiration Ashley and Kaidan showed for their environs. They both seemed intent on seeing if there was a place somewhere on this icy rock where skis and snowboards were allowed and then finding a place that rented both.

The idea of strapping pieces of _wood_ (or _a piece_ of wood, if snowboarding) to his feet in order to slide down a snowy mountain seemed ridiculous. He blamed it on humans having too many toes and not enough to do with them.

It was nice of Capt. Matsuo though, to go to the trouble of hosting Tavia. Privately, Garrus suspected the tiny captain of wanting to keep Tavia where most of her actions could be observed. Part of him suspected it really was what the Captain called it: access to the superior communications arrays possessed by Port Hanshan and…

The suggestive trailing off made Garrus think that if Tavia found her way into the systems of Peak Fifteen, the Captain would turn a blind eye unless Tavia started tripping security devices. With geth in the garage, who knew what they'd find at Peak Fifteen that also needed cleaning out?

Not that Capt. Matsuo would ever admit to a plan like that in a place like this.

Tavia: Suspicion

"You know, if you don't back off on that, she's going to blush so hard she'll spontaneously combust," Tavia noted bemusedly to Sere as she entered and a giggling Tali left.

"My apologies," Sere answered. "One doesn't see many quarians outside the fleet."

"Nor many drell off Khaje," Tavia agreed, limping over to the nearest chair and dropping into it. "Ugh."

"Does you knee pain you much? Capt. Matsuo put me at your service. Perhaps… an icepack?" he looked a little nervous about asking… but probably a little nervous about not being as helpful as Maeko expected him to be.

Tavia chuckled at this. "I've never had much success with this thing and ice packs. Nice of you to offer, though." She massaged the un-swollen joint wishing her stupid brain would get the message: _there's nothing wrong here_. End perception of a pain that didn't really exist and she could start worrying about stopping the nightmares.

They weren't as bad as after Akuze… but they were close to being that bad. It was why she'd gone back onto coffee, in spite of knowing how difficult a habit it was to kick.

Tavia glanced at Sere as he stood there, hands behind his back, attentive and ready to take instructions.

There was something… not quite right with this picture. She couldn't say what it was. Maybe it wasn't something wrong with the picture but something… absent? Her nerves began to tingle as she considered.

Tali returned with the last box of equipment. "Here's the last of it!" she announced cheerfully.

"That is a _lot_ of tech," Sere noted, regarding the many boxes one by one.

"I know! It's like having an entire electronics kiosk at your fingertips!" Tali rhapsodized, almost bouncing in place, combination of being ruffled by the good-mannered and affable drell and the truly quarian ecstasy over unlimited techie-toys to play with.

At least someone was enjoying Port Hanshan. For a moment… she reminded Tavia of Dr. T'Soni's excitability over discovering Prothean crap stuck in Tavia's head.

Tavia pushed heavily to her feet with a grunt. Her nerves were _itching_ by this point. Something was wrong with the picture and it hadn't been wrong before Maeko's babysitter arrived.

"Are you still feeling that bad?" Tali asked, her frown audible as she began to wring her hands—something she always did when worried, distressed or nervous.

"I've felt worse. Come on, let's get unpacked—I'll run second scan of the room."

"Too many corporate weasels," Tali hissed to Sere.

"Sere, I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside once the mission begins." She cued her omnitool and gave every appearance of performing her second scan of the room. The agreement was that she and Tali would both do it twice, just in case of bugs.

As Tali said: it was less that she didn't trust Maeko and more that she didn't trust the investors.

"I understand, of course, Ms. Shepard."

"If I could get you to just scoot," she stepped around him, omnitool still bright.

He moved gracefully to accommodate her and suddenly her balance… slipped.

Tavia staggered with a gasp, the weight falling on her bad knee.

As she stumbled, would have fallen, Sere shot out both hands and caught her adeptly. "You must be more careful," he admonished, setting her back upright, waiting for her to show him she could manage herself before removing his supporting hands in favor of offering her an arm against which to balance.

"Yeah," Tavia agreed, feigning more pain than she felt as he helped her back to her chair. After a moment of heavy breathing, "You know, I think I'll take you up on that icepack. Damn… uh, T-Tali, could you run back and tell Doc I think I want that gel now? I'm _really_ hurting." She managed to sound utterly pathetic as she said it, expression scrunched and teeth gritting between sentences.

"Yeah, sure," Tali answered, her tone full of sweet sympathy.

Sere followed her out, presumably to get the icepack.

Tavia waited for the door to close. Once it did, the glass forming the front wall of the office space frosted and cracked, allowing some but not total privacy to the occupants. She cued her omnitool with a sigh as she released the evidences of great pain.

The stagger-dance, as she called it, was the best way she knew to get a scan of someone without him or her realizing they'd been scanned. The fact that she had a legitimate 'injury' to give her a reason for such a maneuver was a blessing in itself. She didn't say that often.

She trusted Maeko not to want her dead.

She did not like the vibe that Sere gave off. He was a little too nice, a little too smooth. In fact, it was only because he was so nice and so smooth, so unobtrusive and quacking someone to oneself at ease with when her life was so dangerous, that made her uncomfortable. She could see why Maeko picked him: charming, polite, unobtrusive, classy company, the kind of person one might like to chat with outside business hours… which served a secondary function, that of ensuring Tavia had a member of the security force to ensure nothing chaos-like happened when Maeko wasn't around.

Maeko did love an orderly, regulated posting.

But ICT had a way of honing one's gut feelings and right now her gut feelings said that Sere Sedge was trouble with a friendly smile—a smile worth watching for a variety of reasons.

She regarded the scan. The gun was certainly ERCS crap… but the polonium rounds comprising the block inside were definitely not standard issue. How had he gotten them? They were illegal in most places, which meant he'd put effort into obtaining them.

Or someone had asked him, very specifically, to use them. Was Saren sending Garrus a message? _'I can reach you… or yours._ '

" _Tavia!_ " Tali's accusing voice chirruped. " _Dr. Chakwas doesn't know a thing about—_ "

"Polonium, Tali. Stay put," Tavia commanded in a low undertone.

Tali took a nervous breath on the other end of the line. " _O-okay…_ "

Polonium rounds.

"Here we are," Sere announced upon his return, with an icepack and a cup of coffee. "Compliments of the canteen," he declared, indicating the coffee which he set on the table.

Tavia took the icepack, tried to keep her breathing even as she took the hot—no, warm—coffee. It wasn't hot enough to burn. Damn.

What did she know about drell?

 _Eidetic memory. Hallucinogenic effect of mouth-to-mouth contact. Skin oils could produce skin irritation over time. Prone to respiratory problems, resultant of a dry-climate species living on a wet-climate world. Stronger than they looked, usually, wiry and compact._

Polonium rounds.

"Ms. Shepard? Are you alright?" Sere asked, looking genuinely concerned as she started into her coffee. His expression was so perfect Tavia felt that only natural paranoia and a sense of the fitness of things instilled and honed by ICT let her scent the danger.

She might be out of the program, out of the Alliance… but the skills were still there.

"Sere…" she asked cheerfully, as though about to ask why he was still single. "Why are you carrying polonium rounds?"

His expression never changed. "I don't know what you mean."

Tavia was fast, throwing her coffee into his face.

Sere—or whoever he was—was faster, throwing up one arm to protect his eyes while the other shot out, grabbing her near the bicep. He twisted and Tavia danced along, turning the attempt to bring her under control into a sort of reel. He knew the exact torque needed to pull the joint right out of its socket and the gesture was practiced, almost instinctive. Her brain said her knee hurt, but the muscles would not simply give out because her brain was confused—thank goodness for adrenaline.

She struck him with a heel strike under the chin only to have her attempt to follow up by fracturing his cheekbone foiled.

She found herself pushed back over the table, a forearm bringing crushing pressure against her throat. His lips moved soundlessly, black eyes catching hers.

With a grunt of effort, she curled up, bring her legs up and wrapping them around his waist. With another grunt of effort, she jerked them to the side. With him being braced as he was in order to exert the necessary pressure to slowly crush her windpipe he wasn't balanced against a lateral force. The motion sent them both rolling along the table, the edge catching both of them more than once in the back. They hit the ground side-by-side and it was a scrap to see who could disentangle themselves enough to retaliate first.

Tavia yelped at the fist to her face, felt her nose break. She shot out a hand as they both scrambled to their knees. His pistol was already free—

She desperately lurched at him, ignoring his size and weight advantages. Drell were a tough, wiry species. He was in full armor so a groin shot was out of the question. She was in no position to break bones. But there was one other way to incapacitate a male drell and she jumped at the opportunity. She shot out her free hand—realizing she was using her non-dominant left because, like a fool, she'd let her right hand jump to her face to staunch the bleeding—her fingers catching in the delicate frill of his throat, finger slipping between the neat folds of skin.

She had a split second to think how cool to the touch and soft the almost membranous epidermal feature was before she curled her fingers, gripped hard, and jerked as if to pull the flesh loose. In an ideal world, she would have.

Sere's mouth opened in a soundless scream one hand going to dislodge hers just as one of her hands had shot to her nose. Though he retained his hold on his pistol, he pointed it away from both of them, as much to avoid shooting himself by accident as to keep it out of her reach.

She caught him in the face with her free elbow, blood spraying everywhere as she reached across both of them for his pistol. This time, pain made him lose track, however briefly, of where his pistol was beyond the fact that it was in his hand and not hers.

She succeeded in forcing it loose from slackened fingers, but he sent it flying out of her hand before bringing the edge of one hand across her neck. Only a quick twist got her shoulder high enough to take some of the blow. A second later hard, tough fingers snapped her wrist with a practiced twist… but she'd gained enough distance to get her knees up and her feet both caught him in the midriff, sending him back far enough for her to scramble back.

" _Hey, Tavia? We've reached Peak Fifteen._ " Garrus announced.

A split second after she gained some semblance of being on her feet she howled in agony as Sere's foot connected viciously with the outside of her bad knee. She wanted to vomit her knee gave out, shifting her weight. She grabbed onto her assailant, the fingers of her right hand digging into his neck frill. This time, she had a better grip and began to _twist_. "I'm gonna rip this fucking thing right off!" she shouted, close enough to see herself reflected in glassy-dark eyes.

Drell nose, small and with delicate bones _…_ she rocked forward, viciously bashing his nose with her forehead which staggered him. She dove for his pistol, letting go of his neck frill once she had the weapon and catching him a glancing blow to the chest with her heel.

" _Tavia? Tavia, are you there?_ " Garrus' tone was not worried, merely puzzled.

She unloaded two shots, one was too wide and hit the wall. The other caught him in the shoulder, whipping him back into a spin. His shout told her quite clearly that she'd hit him and that he could feel pain. She'd begun to wonder. Her third shot missed when he jumped up onto the table, her fourth shot missed when he biotically grabbed the nearest box of tech and flung it at her.

Then he was gone, up the circulation vent like a hamster through a tube before the tech stopped falling. And he did it with a bullet in his shoulder. Tough bastard.

Tavia hit the ground, still unloading slugs into the vents but knowing, deep down, that the drell was long gone.

That she only had nine shots of the polonium was telling: this assassin wasn't habitual in using it and didn't expect to need it once he finished her. Nine rounds being discharged would also attract ESRC's attention since sound like that carried farther than a scream.

" _Tavia! Tavia, damn it, answer me!_ " Garrus shouted in her ear, finally having grown worried.

She was in so much pain that she didn't know what to do. She knew she ought to answer Garrus, especially with that edge of worry in his tone but she couldn't… she just…

Garrus: Rage

"Tavia! Answer me, damn it!" Garrus repeated for what felt like the second or third time.

" _Hello? Garrus!_ "

"Dammit, Tali!" Garrus snarled, glad to have someone finally pick up but deeply shaken upon hearing Tali and not Tavia. "What the hell is going on?" If she was hurt, _again,_ so help him—

He wasn't sure what he'd do, but it wouldn't be pretty.

" _I don't_ know _!_ " Tali wailed, which was enough to remind him to take some of the bite out of his tone. " _All I know is that Tavia got Sere and I out of the room. She wanted me to pick something up from Dr. Chakwas, but Dr. Chakwas had no idea what I was talking about!_ " By this point, the quarian sounded absolutely beside herself. " _When I called Tavia to ask what was wrong, she said 'polonium rounds. Stay put.'_ "

Polonium… that was the favorite of Saren's men back on the Citadel. Garrus felt himself go cold in a way that had nothing to do with the weather.

" _Capt. Matsuo contacted the Normandy and said Tavia had been attacked. They've moved her to the medbay. Capt. Matsuo says she'll be handling Tavia's security personally from now on—and accepts that you're going to be very angry and feels you have every right to be._ " Her voice shook as if she was suppressing a scream or tears of distress.

Garrus groaned deep in the back of his throat.

"Why?" Kaidan asked blankly, echoing Garrus' feelings. "Why can't she be left alone for ten minutes?"

"Because she's good at her job?" Ashley asked sardonically. "Hope the other guy looks worse."

"Seconded," Wrex grunted.

" _Security footage is garbled. He looked like Elanus Risk Control—Tavia even checked him out with Capt. Matsuo, and the captain knew who he was. A few weeks here but eight years with ERCS before that, not too clean, not too sketchy. I mean…_ "By nowTali's voice was truly choked with tears. " _I mean, I liked him. I'd never…_ _if I hadn't… I might have…_ "the girl sniffled, sounded ready to break down in earnest. Her sniffle-punctuated recriminations indicated she dealt she would _never_ look twice the next time a man flirted with her a little.

As much as he disapproved anyone's head being turned by a pretty face or pretty manner, he reminded himself Tali was young, and quarians were generally treated with some disdain. It told him that someone understood psychology and could get a read on someone _very_ quickly. That said, to him, a professional.

"If you hadn't left when Tavia told you to, he'd probably have killed you too—two birds with one stone. Tali, is Tavia badly hurt?" Garrus tried to keep the concern out of his voice and to radiate reassurance. If he didn't, unhardened as she was, Tali might just break down and be useless to everyone which would do _her_ no good and wouldn't help anyone else, either.

" _Y-yes. Dr. Chakwas is with her now. Capt. Matsuo asked specifically for Tavia's personal physician. She's really upset that this happened at all._ "

She wasn't the only one. "Tali, what are you doing right now?"

" _I'm just… waiting._ " He could almost hear her wringing her hands.

"No, you're not. You're going to put on Tavia's coordinator hat and coordinate for us."

Several bug-eyed looks turned in his direction. He ignored them.

" _G-Garrus, I can't!_ " Tali protested, shocked out of her teary worry.

"You can." She didn't have much of a choice. He felt lopsided without some eye in the sky and Tavia had been training Tali for an instance like this. She'd told him as much.

Well, Tavia was out of the field; Tali would just have to quarian up and deal with it. Maybe it would be good for her in the long run.

" _No, you don't, I mean, I'm not…_ _I'm not Tavia! I can't do it!_ "

A little tough love, then. "What do you think Tavia's been training you for? In case something happened to her, you'd be able to do her job and keep our asses where they belong. Tali, we need you to do this. Tavia wouldn't want the mission to suffer because she got knocked around."

Tali swallowed audibly on the other end. There was no arguing with 'Tavia wouldn't want.' She was too much a professional to want anything—even her own health—to hamper the mission.

"Tali, none of this is your fault. He fooled Capt. Matsuo—how could you be expected to see what she didn't?" Garrus said, in the same tone he would have used on his sister had she gotten hysterical.

"… _give me five minutes,_ " Tali said meekly. " _I'll-I'll do what I can._ "

"It'll be enough," Garrus comforted her.

"Do you… you don't think Tavia's going to…?" Dr. T'Soni asked, her big blue eyes bigger and bluer than usual.

"Don't be stupid," Wrex grunted. "She's not going to die for anyone less than Saren."

Garrus hoped so.


	20. Chapter 20

Tavia: Back

Tavia limped into the room, leaning heavily on Maeko, the brace on her knee a reassuring pressure but not much more than that—or so she felt. She ached all over, almost enough to make her sick. However, any less pain would require more painkillers and she had teammates on a mission. She couldn't afford to be in a hazy cloud of chemical comfort… however much she might welcome the reprieve.

Her broken bones had been carefully reset; unfortunately, the assassin had done a number on her already weakened knee. Maybe not quite payback for a polonium round to the shoulder, but close enough.

Tavia was not ready to have the discussion about 'what next' with regards to that stupid, stupid knee. Not while Garrus was freezing his ass off, the team was headed into a hot zone, while her face, throat, and back were bruising spectacularly and her wrist throbbed.

Meanwhile Tali—through her radio than speaker broadcast since it was only her—did her best to keep herself afloat. "There you go, Garrus, I've got a line of sight on them. _Me_? I mean, yes, yes, I can do that. Don't worry. Give me a moment," the quarian said, before heaving a heavy sigh and shaking her head. " _Keelah_ , how does Tavia do this? Ah… ahem. G-good afternoon. My name is Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, attached to Spectre Garrus Vakarian. He'd like a word with you without being shot at… yes, I understand. And so will he; no autopsy no foul. I'll let him know it's safe… Garrus? They're expecting you… yes, I'm watching, no fingers on triggers."

After a few moments, Tali groaned and slouched forward… then she sniffled and seemed to try to cap the weakness of getting weepy while trying to work.

"Sounds like you've got this," Tavia announced tiredly. "Maybe I should just go back to bed."

"Tavia!" Tali jumped to her feet, which made Tavia wince. If any of that equipment had had wires, the girl would have jerked every last one of them loose. Tali immediately hugged her, though the quarian was gentle, well aware even in her relief that just because Tavia was up did not mean she was fine.

Tavia wrapped an arm around Tali and patted her back reassuringly. "It's okay. Help me to a chair." Tali carefully took the brunt of her weight from the helping shoulders of Maeko, who immediately withdrew. Her shadow remained outside the door.

Tavia dropped into the chair and propped her foot on another one, elevating her knee with a groan. She didn't know how bad this would be without what little painkillers she was on and she didn't want to know. She felt coated in pain to the point that she wasn't sure which of her various injuries hurt the worst.

"How bad is it?" Tali asked, her helmeted head scanning the damage.

"It's not your fault," Tavia announced reflexively, remembering how flustered Tali was over whatever mild flirting Sere—or whoever he was—had indulged in. The girl would absolutely feel she had been in the wrong for letting anyone ruffle her feathers like that. Tali was understandably susceptible to that sort of thing, not having had much (if any) experience with it. "You're on a mission. Don't turn your back on it."

Tali sat down and listened for a few minutes. "Garrus! Tavia just limped in. She's fine… well, fine-er than she was…" Tali turned. "He wants you to join this conversation."

"Of course he does," Tavia sighed, activating the channel via her omnitool. "Hello, Garrus, I'm alive."

" _Spirits, Tavia! What the hell happened?_ " Garrus almost shouted.

Tavia almost gave a titter of amusement at the vehemence in his tone. "I'm alive. That's all you need right now. We'll hash this out when you get back—I don't want your face getting blown off because you got distracted."

" _You bet we're going to hash this out_ ," the turian groused.

"Nice to know you care," Tavia smirked.

She settled down as Tali continued coordinating, aware that Maeko had been joined by Dr. Chakwas, both women not standing guard outside the room. She ached and shuddered at the 'might have beens' associated with her situation. She had come so close to being killed…

Garrus: Bugged

Garrus groaned as he slouched to the floor of the elevator, ignoring the liberal coat of rachni spatter gracing his—and everyone else's—armor. As if Reapers and Saren and geth weren't enough… _rachni_? This was getting a bit much, even for him.

"Rachni," Ashley said darkly, following his example.

"Yep," Kaidan agreed, massaging the bridge of his nose before chugging an electrolyte drink. His disgust with the situation manifested with him pitching the empty container into a corner. Usually he simply put the container back into his web gear.

"Seriously. _Rachni_ ," Ashley repeated, picking up the container and throwing it herself.

"That's what it looks like, Chief."

"These people are crazy. They're _all_ crazy!" she growled, her brows knitting together in a way that emphasized the aquiline features of her face.

"No arguments here," Garrus agreed, closing his eyes. "How is she, Tali?"

"' _She' happens to be tapped into the conversation. Still,_ " Tavia answered dryly.

"Oh, hello, Tavia. Glad to see you're still with us." He could imagine her thin-lipped disapproval, and it was balm to his soul.

" _I'm gonna wring your neck when you get back, Garrus. If you keep this up, I'm really going to do it._ "

"You'll be lucky if you can wring out a wet washcloth," Garrus responded with a chuckle. "What do you think about all this, since you've been listening?"

" _I don't know what to think. I'm caught somewhere between 'bad idea' and 'sheer stupidity.'_ "

"Stupidity," Kaidan said, holding a hand up as though voting.

"Stupidity," Ashley seconded.

Garrus looked over at Dr. T'Soni. The girl had been so quiet during the trip it was easy to forget she was there. She fought well, responded promptly to orders, but for once she was almost totally silent. He supposed he couldn't blame her—her mother was down here somewhere, infected with crazy. What surprised him was how adamant she had been about going and that Tavia had backed her up.

"How're you hanging in there?" he asked her gently.

"I don't know," Dr. T'Soni answered. "I… ask me when this is over."

He nodded, patting her shoulder as he got to his feet. It was still strange having Tali handling the mission from station-side. If Tavia hadn't taken over, it meant she felt her judgment was impaired. Or maybe she just wanted to let the quarian finish what she started to prove to the girl that she could do it.

He hoped it was the latter; Tali's confidence had been brutally shaken today, and the only way to counter shaken confidence was to prove it wasn't indicative of ineptitude elsewhere. He liked Tali, and she handled the tech aspects well, but she was of a distinctly more nervous personality than Tavia, and uncomfortable with being the voice in everyone's head.

Thus, he was uncomfortable having her as the voice inside his head.

Tavia: Losses

Tavia closed her eyes as Dr. T'Soni shouted for her mother. The girl's voice broke in a way that burned painfully across Tavia's heart.

Tali seemed to be taking the events almost as badly, for the quarian sniffled as she watched the asari shift her mother into her arms.

" _Mother?_ "

" _I cannot…_ _go on,_ " the Matriarch gasped, " _you…_ _must stop him._ "

" _Hold on,_ "Dr. T'Soni begged, " _we have medigel, maybe we—_ "

" _No,_ "Benezia said firmly, one hand on her daughter's cheek. " _He is still in my mind. I am not entirely myself…_ _I never will be again._ "

Tavia wished she could turn the recording off. Instead, she submerged herself in the new information.

Lost relays, living rachni, an ever-growing threat.

Indoctrination—which, in her mind, required a capital letter. Something that could subdue and suborn even an asari Matriarch. The idea was chilling… and explained a lot.

Tavia opened her eyes and came back to the world when Dr. T'Soni let off a high-pitched yowl of grief.

"What are we going to do about the rachni queen, Garrus?" Tavia asked numbly.

" _What do you think?_ " Garrus asked darkly.

Garrus: Mercy

Garrus felt sick and tired. All he wanted was to go back to the warm coziness of the Normandy, eat something sustaining and then try desperately to get some sleep. It was hard listening to Dr. T'Soni's broken sobbing or Ashley's awkward attempts to comfort the girl.

It was easier to listen to Wrex grousing about the rachni guts in his armor and how it was Feros all over again. Oddly enough, Garrus thought the krogan might not be complaining about that.

The rachni in the tank screamed, a horrible sound like metal grinding on metal.

Time to get this over with and call it a day…

"Wai-it…"

The call was soft, as if the speaker was only partly familiar with the language she spoke. A flaccid hand caught against his ankle.

He looked down to find a blank-faced asari commando looking up at him, her hand trying to detain his progress.

"We've got a live one!" Garrus barked, bringing Kaidan at a dash.

"Her vitals are so weak," Kaidan shook his head, but he unpacked his medical kit. "I don't know if I can—"

"This one," the asari said, still strangely blank of expression, "serves as our voice. We cannot sing. Not in these low spaces. Your musics are… colorless."

"…musics?" Garrus asked, then looked over at the rachni in the tank. It was pressed against the tank, suddenly silent, huddled. "I'm talking to… you… aren't I?" The idea boggled him as he looked back down at the asari commando.

"Yes."

"Damn," Wrex grunted.

"You ever hear of anything like this?" Garrus asked him.

"Not me. Mostly it was just squishing and crunching and toxic warzones," Wrex answered seriously.

"How? How are you doing this?" Kaidan asked, pausing in his work, an expression of sick fascination on his face.

The asari turned her head floppily on her neck to look at him. "Your way of communication is strange. Flat. It does not color the air." Whether she understood the blank looks or not, she added further clarification into the silence. "When we speak, one moves all."

" _Like a hive mind,_ " Tavia's voice marveled. " _This wasn't in the history books._ "

"Well, history's written by the victors, isn't it?" Wrex grunted. "It's a bug. Let's squish it before it causes another generation of problems." 'That only the krogan can solve' hung bitterly in the air.

"Oh boy…" Ashley breathed, appearing with Dr. T'Soni protectively under her arm.

"So, who are you?" Garrus asked, feeling it was the only good place to start the conversation. It gave him a moment to try to rectify the new strangeness: there was a live rachni. It wanted to talk to him. It used a dying or dead asari commando to do it.

He'd never heard stories featuring rachni as anything more than devouring, mindless beasts. In this, krogan and turians apparently agreed: they were space-roaches, not capable of higher thought, a galactic scourge.

"We are… the Mother. We sing for those left behind. The children thought silenced," the asari—or, rather, the rachni—responded, flopping her head to look in his direction. "We are Rachni."

Garrus got to his feet and walked slowly over to the tank, forcing himself to take in the alien carapace, the bright eyes, the way the thing hunkered down as he approached. All creatures, he'd heard it said, felt fear. This once certainly did.

"How are you speaking through her?" Garrus asked.

"Our kind sing through touchings of thought. We pluck the strings… and the other understands. She is weak to urging. She has colors for which we have no names. But… she is ending. Her music is bittersweet." The asari's voice dropped almost to a whisper, "It is beautiful."

Was that a tone of regret in a voice previously toneless? Could rachni feel something like regret? Or assign values pertaining to a concept like beauty? Did the 'music' of communication count as 'art'?

Garrus wasn't sure where these thoughts came from. Could they be the rachni trying to influence him? Or had he simply seen enough death for one day? The humans near the hot labs, the asari commandos so misguided, the scientist, Dr. T'Soni's mother who fought at the last to escape the pit of her own digging. Maybe it was his concern for living things in general: he still had no idea how badly Tavia was hurt.

Why couldn't he turn his back on this… bug?

"You want to talk," Garrus said flatly, "so talk."

"The children we birthed were stolen from us before they could learn to sing. They were lost to silence. You have ended their suffering." This time, a decided tone of sadness. "If there are more… they will only cause harm. Do what you must."

"What happened?" Dr. T'Soni asked in a pale voice, her cheeks flushed purple.

"These needle-men. They stole our eggs from us. They sought to turn our children into beasts of war. Claws with no songs of their own!" the rachni thrashed as if the idea hurt and enraged. It probably did—what mother wanted her children born for the State in order that they wage war with no other purpose?

Strange to think of rachni as needing purpose. Or able to regret lost children. To feel rage at what had been done to them.

Bugs didn't have emotions.

Sapient beings had emotions. They felt fear and loss and regret. They made music and assigned values defining intangible subjective concepts like 'beauty.'

"An elder is comfortable with silence. Children know only fear if no one sings to them. Fear has shattered their minds."

He didn't know how fast rachni bred, didn't know if any had been taken off-world. He hadn't known that rachni were something that approached sentience… no, something that _possessed_ sentience.

"Makes sense," Ashley shifted, uneasily. "A baby left in a closet until she's sixteen wouldn't be sane."

Strange to hear Ashley voice something like sympathy for something like the rachni. He wouldn't call her xenophobic, but she took time to warm up to people as people. She ought to talk to Kaidan: _they're just people._ _They're saints and jerks like all the rest of us._

"And now, we stand before you," the rachni said, settling back into the bottom of her tank. "What will you sing? Will you release us? Are we to fade away once more?"

To ask if she would live or die, using only the asari's toneless words… he wasn't sure it was better than the impassioned plea for her life most people would advance.

"I don't trust this… _thing_ ," Wrex growled. "We know their kind are killers, that my kind suffer because someone was needed to fight them. This tank is rigged with something heavy duty." He pointed a stubby finger at the acid tanks fastened to the rachni's holding tube. "I recommend _using_ it."

Garrus was not sure the others could hear the high pitched trill of fear emanating from the Rachni.

"Wait," Dr. T'Soni intervened, a blue hand on his arm. "If you intend to kill her, you will consign an entire race to death. No one person should have that right! Let her go. There's been enough killing for one day." Fresh tears were in her eyes, ready to follow the tracks left by their predecessors.

There was only one thing to do. "What do you think, Tavia?"

" _I think it's your—_ "

" _Don't_ give me that 'you call the plays, I make them happen' bullshit!" Garrus snapped. "You're not here. You're not broken hearted or grudge-bound, or cold, or covered in blood and guts! You're apart from the situation even as you monitor it. Now, I asked what you _thought!_ " That he was so angry with her unwillingness to answer told him he already knew what he wanted to do.

But this was one of those big gambles, the kind that could have galactic ramifications. Nihlus might have been comfortable making this call, but Garrus found he did not want to make it alone. He didn't want just any opinion, but he didn't want to make the call alone.

" _Ask her why her people went to war. I need information,_ " came Tavia's chastened answer.

"Why did your people go to war the last time?" Garrus asked shortly, promptly growing irritated with himself as irritation made him snappish with everyone whether they deserved it or not.

"I… was not there. I was only an egg… but I remember the Mothers singing," the rachni answered slowly. "Their song resonated with a strange, sour, yellow note. War would not be _my_ choice." Was that the heaviness of someone who knew a war could not end well? Was that a suggestion of feeling that at that moment life—all lives—were precious. She'd lost children, so many of them; maybe she had reached the same point he and Liara had.

There had been enough killing today. Who would have thought he could feel that about a bug?

But it was a sentient bug, by accepted definitions. Ergo… well, humans called turians 'spiky monsters' and turians had called humans 'over-evolved pyjaks.' So the rachni looked like a bug; it wasn't the weirdest visual configuration for a species.

" _What would she plan?_ "

Garrus resisted the urge to argue. He, after all, asked for her opinion. He had no right to say how she went about forming it. "What would you do if I set you loose?"

Wrex growled softly; Ashley stiffened.

"We… would find somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. Somewhere… hidden. We would make new children… but we would disappear. War is not _my_ choice," she repeated, the asari's voice somehow sounding firm in spite of its tonelessness.

" _I believe her,_ " Tavia said softly. " _Let her go. You can blame me if it goes badly._ "

"I wouldn't do that," Garrus growled.

" _I know you wouldn't._ "

Garrus looked at the rachni queen. "Release your thrall," he commanded.

"I—" the toneless voice began. Abruptly, it cut off, followed by a heavy thud. The asari lay glassy-eyed where she landed, like an abandoned doll. In her tank, the Rachni crowded as far from the ground team as she could get, but watched intently.

"She's gone," Kaiden announced. "I think… I think the Rachni may have been able to use that link to keep her alive this long."

He'd asked for a second opinion, someone the Rachni couldn't have 'urged.' Now he had it.

He walked over to the console and released the Rachni. It paused, waved its forelegs at him in what was possibly the Rachni way of saying 'thank you.' Suddenly, softly, as if it were just a thought in the back of his head:' _We will remember. We will sing of your mercy._ '

And just like that, the thought vanished, the Rachni streaking off into the tunnels before anyone could change his mind.

"That is the single, stupidest thing I've ever seen," Wrex snarled.

" _I'm sorry, Wrex—"_

"Damn right you should be! And a lot of good it does now!"

Ashley and Kaidan both gave ground to accommodate the angry krogan.

"— _but until I can account for a sour yellow note, I'd rather not make any snap decisions,_ " Tavia replied, her tone so neutral it was almost blank.

"If this comes back to bite you in the ass, don't come crying to the krogan. I'll laugh in your damn face."

" _Noted_."

So much for a good rapport.

Garrus: Trust

"Ugh. You've _got_ to try this," Garrus moaned for about the sixth time.

"Pass," Tavia chuckled for about that many times. She sat on the edge of the pool her trousers folded back to mid-shin, her feet hanging in the water. Her crutches lay behind her, her face spectacularly bruised but her nose expertly repaired. Her wrist was still in a wrap, but it had been set and tended. The only pain left in it came from trauma to the complex inner workings.

Garrus had always thought humans and asari and salarians very strange for wanting to submerse themselves in water recreationally. Washing was one thing, but _recreational submersion_ to do it?

But as he sat in the pool of fizzing mineral water in the Port Hanshan VIP spa with little jets puffing water and air bubbles all over him, and a cold drink sweating on the edge of the small pool, he changed his mind. They had a point… just don't ask him to try 'swimming' just because he liked this.

The hot, moist air helped chase away the Noveria chill and he knew that he was not the first of Normandy's crew to slip down here—thanks to a grateful Capt. Matsuo and Giana Parasini who had, after detaining Anoleis, given the crew run of certain portions of the port.

"I promise I don't have a thing about humans. Didn't Dr. Chakwas say 'heat and rest'? I've never seen so much heat and rest in one place!" Garrus slithered down, submerged almost to his nose. He had to sit up as the fizzy-bubbles assailed his nostrils. "Ugh!"

"I appreciate the offer," Tavia sighed, looking away. Her tone declared her next words to be a great effort. "I'm badly scarred, Garrus. Thresher maw acid… I don't like to show them off. Otherwise…" she shrugged. "It does look like the rest of this place: first class care for a first-class crowd." She wrinkled her nose to convey _exactly_ what she thought of this world's first-class crowd in general.

Garrus studied Tavia's profile. It offended his sense of rightness that she felt or had been made to feel so ashamed of the damage—which was not her fault—that she should deprive herself of the hot water. And mixed species or mixed-gender soaking was not unusual. He'd seen it, especially here. "I thought you liked to swim."

"I wear a wetsuit."

"What about fancy dresses?" He knew humans liked low fronts and lower backs. He'd never really thought about it, but he knew.

"High back, short sleeves," Tavia answered with a shrug.

Garrus scowled at her. "That's why your relationships don't last, isn't it? You don't want them to be repulsed by the scarring." That he could say such a thing so freely and without her taking offense said something as to how far they'd come as friends.

"I've had that thought once or twice," Tavia answered softly. "Come on, you're supposed to be enjoying your soak. Good few days of work. You know, I think everyone else has bragged to me about how great this place is. I can see why." She sipped her own drink, a vividly purple non-alcoholic thing with a big skewer of sunfruits cut into ridiculously ornate shapes. Or it _had_ a skewer of sunfruits: Tavia had eaten them one by one, hazily lamenting how painkillers made everything taste weird. Which was a pity as she particularly liked sunfruits and these, apparently, were some of the best she'd ever had.

Or would be without the said alteration of her sense of taste.

She'd yielded to a useful dose of painkillers and only his promise to Dr. Chakwas allowed Tavia to leave the sanctuary of the Normandy. So he was doubly responsible for her—firstly because she was injured, secondly because she was on heavy painkillers.

"I won't push—though goodness knows you push people all the time. But…" he paused, then plowed on, not looking at her. "I would never be repulsed by your scars. They weren't the result of stupidity, or something you could be blamed for. You shouldn't have to be ashamed." At that point, he peeked up at her, wondering if he'd overstepped some human cultural thing. It was the turian practical mindset about scars; although one couldn't always tell whether they were scars of stupidity or not, turians tended to give the individual the benefit of the doubt.

Apparently it wasn't that way with humans.

Color flooded her face, her mouth pursing and unpursing as she looked anywhere that wasn't at him. "Thanks, Garrus."

"Mm-hmm." Garrus turned his attention to the water, which seemed to be softening his carapace a little.

He looked up at a rustling of cloth. Whether Tavia would have done it if she hadn't been in a painless haze he didn't know. But there she sat on the edge of the pool, her back almost to him giving him a good look at the scars, except where her racerback… harness… obscured them. From the way she paused after getting her shirt off, he could tell she was listening for a reason to put the garment back on again and leave.

Well, she wouldn't find it here. He found the damage more sad than repulsive. Then again, he knew how much she had suffered during that time. Anyone who could look down at her or belittle her or make her feel bad or ugly for bearing such marks deserved a first-class ass kicking.

He couldn't deny that the damage was, as she promised, unsightly. He could even see why some might call it hideous. It ran in large swathes as well as smaller patches all over her back and shoulders, a little on the back of her neck. The edges of the burns looked like buildups of white wax—buildups that hinted at the gaps between armor plates. The burns themselves were livid pink, shinier than the rest of her skin, mottled and riddled with fingerlike white patterns.

It was ugly, but all he saw was pain indelibly etched into her skin. And not just the pain of the initial injuries.

When he made no sound, she shimmied out of her trousers, exposing the brace stabilizing her knee and that the burns extended onto her thighs—and confirming to him that some of this was definitely the lowered inhibitions associated with painkillers.

Where the brace didn't cover it, her knee was a mess too, the skin damaged with incision scars which meant the damage had been catastrophic. Now, it was swollen and bruised, the obvious mark of someone's booted heel stark white at the epicenter of the discoloration.

When he said nothing at all, and met her eyes when she glanced back to see how he was taking it, she sighed. "Regular melted candle." But she slid, with a hiss, into the water, her dark undergarments soaking up the moisture. Apparently simply wearing one's underwear wasn't that unusual either, given the piles of clothes he saw while making his way to this alcove—and the fluffy robes on the nearby shelf.

He couldn't be sure, but he suspected the curtains were there for _privacy_ rather than just privacy. If so, it made business people some of the tackiest sapients in the galaxy.

Tavia settled so she could see out of the alcove, her back to the wall so as to hide the damage. Several extensions of the scarring lapped over her shoulder, like fingers on a detaining hand. "Mm. That is good," she admitted, sinking into the water up to her chin with a sigh.

"Really good," Garrus agreed, noting that Tavia kept her eyes closed, as if to prevent herself from seeing any repulsion his tone might belie… or to avoid having to look at her own ruined flesh. "So. Any sign of your assassin?"

"Nope. He—or someone—wiped the records. There was nothing left of Sere Serge by the time I got to look for him. I did, however, find a very thin thread—there _is_ a drell assassin, well known if I can use that phrase for someone who needs to keep himself _un_ known. C-Sec calls him Amonkira. It's a name out of the drell pantheon—lord of hunters."

"C-Sec loves irony. Helps when we can't bust someone," Garrus answered, watching Tavia's skin turning pink. Humans were so weird… "If he's wearing an identifier like that he is serious bad news."

"Guy's like smoke. 'Drell' is about all anyone knows but they estimate between thirty-five and forty-five based on the number of times suspicion has cropped up. It's possible he's more than one person, but…" Tavia shrugged.

"He's verging on retirement then," Garrus mused. "Professional assassins are like professional athletes: they tap out quickly compared to other professions. It's the demands of the job."

"Sounds like ICT. Did you know that we have a five year life-expectancy once we make N7?"

"I can see why… uh…" Garrus answered, then teetered uneasily on trying to explain himself. That hadn't come out right _at all_.

"I know what you meant," Tavia said softly. "This guy will try again. Why he wanted up-close—"

"Unless Saren wanted to be good and sure of you. That turian you took down? Turned up dead just after we left for Earth. Someone finished what you began. What I want to know is, why masquerade as ERCS?" Garrus mused, sipping his drink.

"Easy. Port Hanshan is a closed system. If you're not in it, it's a bitch getting in. You saw what we dealt with. If I were Saren, or Benezia I suppose, and I knew I'd be coming here eventually, and that this crazy Spectre—"

"And his erstwhile deputy—"

"I _loved_ those flicks growing up—were going to put in an appearance, I'd have my man in place, ready to act by the time the party in question arrived. Maeko didn't even know this guy was faking it. And he wasn't an exceptionally 'isn't that a coincidence?' arrival, either. He had time to embed himself."

"But he's known. Bad policy for an assassin."

"Is he? Run 'green drell' through any database you want and see what you turn up," Tavia challenged with a grin.

"You already did." She'd done a lot before yielding to pain and doing something constructive about it.

"Green is one of the most common pigmentations in the drell population. Red throat frill isn't uncommon either. In fact, while I was researching, I tripped over the tidbit that drell use a variety of dyes to adjust their scale color. It's like long-term makeup or temporary tattooing. Not uncommon for drell who leave Kahje—custom takes it back to like how hanar have face-names and soul-names."

"One look for home, another for the public," Garrus filled in.

"Exactly. As far as I can tell, our drell is Average Joe Somebody or however you'd call him."

"Average Phineas."

"Exactly. We'll just have to get Saren before Amonkira or whoever he is tries again. Hopefully he'll quit if the money goes away. If not… well. I'll be careful." Tavia fidgeted biting her lip. It was good to see the prospect of a second run-in with this assassin had her rattled—rattled but not cowed, even when chemically impaired.

No more command posts outside the _Normandy_ then, no matter how bad comms would get otherwise. If she didn't say so, he would. He would _not_ have something like this happening again.

"Any news from your admiral? The one with the missing marines?" It was a potentially touchy subject, but less distressing.

Tavia shook herself, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to change tracks of thought. "Kahoku. He said thank you and that he plans to do some unilateral digging. He'll keep me in the know though, just in case. So, how did Tali do?"

Garrus considered, sipping his drink as he did so. "Okay, I guess. No one came back suffering more than a veneer of bug guts, bumps and bruises. I'd rather have you though, if it's all the same." It was true. Tali was good with information but dealt with facts and codes. Tavia manipulated the battlefield like a person playing a video game—though perhaps not quite so extensively when it came to letting people play their own strengths.

"…how are you and Wrex?"

There had been a snarled conversation between Tavia and Wrex to which no one was privy. Tavia hadn't said anything about it, but she and Wrex seemed to be on very cool terms since.

"I told him we could terminate our arrangement since things have started to sour. He didn't go for it. He's got a real dislike for Saren, but won't say why. However I may express sympathy for the krogan predicament he doesn't feel my actions speak of it."

Garrus nodded, knowing those would be the salient points. Why she didn't just fire Wrex's krogan ass he didn't know, but he would let her have her way. Wrex was, after all, her find. "Keep me in the loop about the admiral. We're at a temporary dead end, so if anything comes up…"

"Thanks. I appreciate that," Tavia answered.

Garrus nodded.

"There is one thing, though," Tavia began hesitantly.

"Hm?"

Tavia drew her good knee up to her chest, looking far more uncomfortable and—dare he say it?—vulnerable than she had when telling him that Wrex (and probably not in such polite terms) had called her a hypocrite. "Back with the Rachni… you said I wasn't there. That I wasn't…"

"Yeah, I did say that," Garrus answered, relieving her of the necessity of repeating it.

She looked up, expression unguarded. "You said I'm apart from the situation even as I monitor it."

Her statements were _statements_ , and yet he was sure there was a question in there. He understood a split second after determining this. He must have kicked some soft or sore spot, echoed some thoughts she had. If he had, the tone was totally different. He hadn't meant it as a negative thing. "I didn't mean 'in the rear with the gear' and didn't think you'd think I did." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Look, I've been told all my life I'm too brash. I get in there and want to do the right thing—problem is, the right thing when you're pissed off or tired or hurt isn't the same right thing as when you're cool-headed. That's why I need you in the back monitoring, _not_ covered in blood and guts. I need someone to think clearly when I don't. Because knowing about a shortfall and not making allowances or arrangements to accommodate or balance it is the height of stupidity." _That_ was right out of Basic. One of the first things a cadet learned.

"I understand. I just…" Water sloshed gently as Tavia shifted.

"It was hard for you to give up field work, wasn't it?" Garrus asked, opening his eyes again.

Tavia nodded. "I was trained to be _with_ my team. A leader away from the lines… that's not good." She gave a scoff and finished her drink in one go before looking morosely at the empty glass. "REMFs, we called them: rear-echelon motherfuckers."

He took that to mean she'd said more to him, stepped further out of her comfort zone with him, than she had with anyone else in a long time. It was then that he could articulate one of the reasons they worked so fluidly.

She trusted him and he trusted her beyond whatever a contract or necessity required.

Why else would she be hot-tubbing with him with fresh painkillers in her system?


	21. Chapter 21

Tavia: Friends

The air was tense between Tavia and Ashley as they frowned at blackjack over supper.

The weight of worry fought with disagreement in Ashley.

Tavia, feeling more clear-headed than earlier, ruminated on how strange it was to go hot-tubbing with a turian. Garrus had not, even once, looked over her scars after the initial exposition was over, nor had he given any show of trying to avoid looking at them. It was a level of acceptance—or the appearance thereof—that even she, who had to live with them, had not yet managed. They were there but they didn't matter.

She wasn't used to exposing her soft underbelly—she never would have if not for the painkillers—so she was pleasantly surprised not to come away regretting having done so. His attitude evidenced a level of acceptance she had yet to achieve with regards to herself.

And that was just weird… unsettling, even.

"I'd love to know where your brain is tonight," Ashley finally announced, throwing down her cards in disgust.

"Sorry. Just feeling a bit shaken up," Tavia looked at her cards and debated whether to just call it a night.

"Guess you have a right to," Ashley allowed.

Silence followed.

"Come on, let's hit the—oh, wait. No, never mind," Ashley's olivine skin turned faintly pink.

Tavia knew what she meant to suggest: _let's hit the treadmills._ It was a common coping mechanism for Ashley to work out with company. Usually company she was mildly at odds with. That tactic had never worked for Tavia, but it worked with Ashley. A little competitive running? Not a bad thing.

Dr. Chakwas' outlook on her knee was grim. The assassin knew what he was doing and Tavia could count on being on crutches for the foreseeable future. Chakwas had reattached what she could, but the fact was that the knee had finally endured too much trauma. It was time to start considering amputation and replacement or reconcile herself to being truly lamed for life.

Tavia was still unsure what to do about that. Even a replacement wouldn't fully fix her problems—although, compared to her situation now, it was a reasonable alternative. It would also mean she wouldn't have a glass knee.

Why? Why was she so resistant to the idea? Prosthetics and surgical repairs were common, she knew several people who had them and it was almost impossible to tell. Such things saved military careers. So why was she so unwilling? It bothered her that her only answered seemed to lurk in the black place the first beacon burned into her mind. She could only surmise it was gut-level instinct not to be recovering when _they_ came.

"Tavia?" Garrus swooped down, his abrupt voice from behind her making her jump. "Excuse me, Chief. I need to speak with you in the briefing room. It's urgent."

Tavia got up clumsily, hoisted herself onto her crutches and followed Garrus at a swing. Muscle memory was an amazing thing; even after years of not having needed them, she found she was neither unsteady nor overly clumsy while making her way around on essentially three feet.

Garrus pulled out a chair for her so she could not have to fight to negotiate the table. "Thanks," she said, dropping into it."

"Any word on repairing that knee?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Tavia said as kindly as she could.

Garrus' mandibles waved and her subharmonic monitoring software called 'deep concern.'

"It's okay. What's important enough to break up blackjack?"

Garrus might talk to her while the game was on, but usually never called her away from bonding with Ashley. In fact, he'd even joined in the group once or twice—but the traditional physical cards were difficult for his three-fingered hands to handle comfortably.

"The Council contacted me. They lost an STG team specifically tasked to look for Saren out in the Traverse. The message is too garbled to unravel, meaning the team can't set up proper comms. The message was on a mission-critical channel."

"So whatever it was, it was important," Tavia finished.

"Exactly."

"Where?"

"Little world called Virmire."

"Joker," Tavia cued her radio. "Garrus is going to give us a destination. Get us there as quickly as possible."

"Ooh, you're letting _me_ touch your galaxy map?" Garrus teased as he started for the door.

"Don't leave any fingerprints on it! I mean it!" Tavia called, chuckling before and after.

Garrus: Redundant Responders

Virmire was a gorgeous world—at least, the humans and Dr. T'Soni thought so. Sunny beaches, clear blue oceans, lush vegetation. It would be a great place for a vacation if one liked the water and if one could get over the fact that Saren was here, entrenched and in force.

He'd slept badly during the trip, too keenly aware that there was an assassin loose looking for Tavia, that Saren was crazy, that geth seemed to have unlimited numbers, and that there was a lot of 'I don't know' associated with Virmire.

A taste of Spectre life in earnest. He wasn't to wanting sleep aids just yet, though.

" _Dammit. Garrus, we've got a problem._ "Tavia announced. " _Joker's got the Normandy set down, and we found the salarian team, but things just got a little complicated._ "

"Of course they have—this is Saren's facility." How could it not be?

The massive AA guns, which were not immune to Tavia's and Tali's joint efforts. In fact, he nearly smiled when the each of them seized a repurposed turret and promptly began shooting anything that looked important. The geth had eventually forced them out of the system, but the damage had been done. Physical repairs were needed before they could be used.

Kaidan pulled the Mako to a halt, the vehicle sliding in the rivulet they'd followed from the insertion point to the salarian camp.

"So what do we do now?" Tavia, almost knee-deep in water and watched closely by Dr. Chakwas, asked the salarian. Tali stood to the side, her arms crossed, the bright sun glaring off her faceplate.

"Stay put," the salarian shrugged, "until we can come up with a plan."

Tavia sighed, then turned at the sound of wading feet. "Garrus, this is Capt. Kirrahe, STG. Captain, this is my Spectre, Garrus Vakarian."

"Captain," Garrus noted, moving to stand close to Tavia. It was a nervous turian thing and he knew it.

She knocked him with her elbow indicating his hovering either annoyed her or was unnecessary.

Unnecessary, he though sourly. Said who?

"Welcome to the biggest hot zone you've ever seen," Kirrahe said without preamble. "As I was telling Commander Shepard here, every AA gun within ten miles has been alerted to your presence. The four you trashed on the way in are just a drop in a bucket."

"Alright. Normandy's grounded for now." The geth would undoubtedly be going teeth and talons to repair the damaged AA guns. Being synthetics that didn't need to sleep would certainly work in their favor. "Plan B?"

"What plan B? We stay here until the Council sends the reinforcements we requested," Kirrahe answered with the huffiness of someone stretched to his limits and now had a whole new lapful of bad news to contend with.

"Uh…" Tavia breathed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"No…" Kirrahe's eyes jumped from Tavia to Garrus, his expression blossoming into horrified comprehension.

"Yeah. We _are_ the reinforcements," Garrus finished, fiddling with his rifle as the tension grew thicker.

Kirrahe blinked several times in silence, even his salarian mind bogging down under the thought that he needed _reinforcements_ and got a Spectre, his Alliance liaison, and a five-man ground crew. "Damn it. I _specifically_ told them to send in a fleet! Six men…" the salarian massaged his brow between his eyes, shaking his head, probably without realizing he was doing it.

"The message was garbled—all we knew was that you were on recon, it was related to Saren, and the static was on a mission-critical channel," Garrus said.

"Captain, Spectre Vakarian's unit is used to working small numbers against large odds," Tavia said. "Let's look at the problem in full before we start worrying about reinforcements we don't have."

"It's all we can do, isn't it?" Kirrahe asked wearily. "Forgive me—this mission…" he waved.

"Even salarians need to sleep," Tavia agreed.

"It will have to wait. Come, let's get out of the sun. It's not doing any good for anyone's temper." Kirrahe trudged into one of the collapsing fabric and durasteel 'shells' the salarians used as a standard tent form. "The Council sent us to investigate," Kirrahe said as he reached the shade. "Huh. I've lost half my men 'investigating' this place. And when I say 'lost' I mean 'lost' not 'killed.' Lost plenty that way, too."

"You're supposed to be shipside," Garrus whispered to Tavia, who seemed to have trouble with her crutches and the sandy bottom of the delta in which they found themselves.

"You weren't here, yet," she answered stoically.

"Well, I am now."

"So am I. Are we really having this conversation?"

"Fine. If you fall and scrape your nose, don't come crying to me," Garrus said, coughing softly—the turian equivalent to a snort.

"Fine. If you run into a wall, full tilt, don't expect me to bandage you up."

Garrus had to smirk at this; when he glanced at her, he found Tavia's mouth twisted in discomfort, but a smile of her own peeked through it.

"This is, in fact, Saren's base of operations," Kirrahe began as the rest of the Normandy's ground team and several of Kirrahe's officers entered the shady retreat. "It's a research facility, heavily protected by geth and very well-fortified. It's unclear if Saren is here, himself. In the end, it doesn't affect the mission: we have to take this facility down."

"What are they researching here, exactly?" Tavia asked, scowling.

Kirrahe was silent a moment, his eyes flickering from Garrus to Tavia to Wrex. After a moment, "He's using the facility to breed an army of krogan."

"How is that possible?" Wrex demanded, moving closer to Tavia's elbow, tense with attention.

"Apparently," Kirrahe answered cautiously, "he's discovered a cure for the genophage."

Tavia actually looked shaken, covering her mouth with one hand as she considered the ramifications.

"Geth are bad enough," Ashley breathed, pale despite her olivine skin tone, "give him geth _and_ krog—do you think that's where he's been getting the ones working with the geth? From here, instead of… wherever you find krogan mercs?"

It would make sense—krogan mercenaries weren't necessarily cheap to hire.

Wrex glared at Ashley, who ignored it.

"I think it's possible," Tavia answered, her voice low. "What I _know_ is that Saren can't be allowed access to a second army—he'd be almost unstoppable."

The very thought turned the blood on Garrus' veins to gelatin.

"Exactly my thoughts," Kirrahe agreed quickly.

That, Garrus suspected, and the genophage was a point of pride with the salarians. They wouldn't want to see it abolished for sentimental reasons first, practical reasons after.

"We must ensure that both the facility and its secrets are destroyed," Kirrahe concluded.

Garrus saw, out of the corner of his eye, Tavia turn her head to look at Wrex.

Tavia: Complications

Tavia regarded Wrex uncomfortably. She had noticed that the more she synched with Garrus, the less she interacted well with Wrex. It was as though he saw her aligning with the turian as a sign that she was less aligned with him as a krogan.

They'd certainly had a quiet but vehement row in the cargo bay after Noveria. She'd told the truth when she told Garrus—or vaguely remembering telling him—that Wrex had opted to remain and that she hadn't argued him into leaving. Things had been even more coolly cordial since then, but there had been no friction. This, though…

This was something that could cause more than a falling out. Wrex believed that his people had been punished enough and she could agree with that. However, if Saren really had a cure she could imagine the majority of krogan joining up with his cause—their help for his. That was unacceptable.

Things were deteriorating into one of those nasty decisions ICT operatives inevitably found themselves facing. She'd been away from it long enough for the impacts to strike deeper than they should have. It was rare for her to regret becoming a civilian, but she was beginning to feel stabs of it every so often.

It was stupid, Tavia thought, but people were not always logical. Maybe she was simply not giving enough credit to the deep hatred krogan felt for turians and salarians. To be perceived as having taken a side rather than being on his or somewhere in the middle could have seriously affected things.

First the rachni, now this. She sensed trouble and was not entirely sure she knew how to diffuse it.

Garrus certainly couldn't.

Wrex had always struck her as a smart man, a thinker unexpected from a race characterized as brutes and scrappers. She'd wanted to believe that there was more stereotype than truth in this portrayal.

"I don't think so," Wrex growled, pinning Tavia with a challenging look. " _My_ people are dying. _This_ can save them."

She could read the subtext without difficulty: you saved the last of the bugs back on Noveria; how can you possibly turn you back on someone who's _actually_ helping you?

She should have terminated their arrangement before now, however much it would have upset him, however short-handed she would have felt. The necessity was obvious, but that did not stop her from feeling the sting of her own hypocrisy. The facility had to be destroyed—it was Saren's and it fed his war efforts.

She had been willing to spare the last of a race remembered only for the plague they had been.

She was willing to sacrifice this 'cure', whatever it was, because of whose hands it was in.

"If that cure is released the krogan will become unstoppable. It would be a mistake that—" Kirrahe began unhelpfully.

Tavia wanted to smack him upside the head. Seriously, now was not the time for that kind of conversation.

Wrex gave a low growl and stepped up to Kirrahe, his nose in the salarian's face. "We. Are. _Not_. A. _Mistake_ ," the krogan snarled, punctuating every few words with a thick finger jabbed into Kirrahe's chest.

Tavia tensed, feeling hands slipping towards sidearms. However, Wrex simply snarled, then stomped away. Once outside the general camp area, he began taking potshots at the rocks guarding the cove.

"Is he going to be a problem?" Kirrahe demanded, his narrow features twisting in a way that suggested to Taviathatshe wasn't the only one wondering how far 'operational prudence' would go in this case. "We already have enough angry krogan to deal with."

"Don't worry about it, Captain," Tavia began.

"I _do_ worry, Commander. That's why I'm still alive." Then the salarian sighed. "Why don't you go and talk to your krogan companion. If your men will keep watch, my men could use a little rest before we do anything about this facility."

"Absolutely," Tavia answered, glancing to Garrus. "If you have no objections, Spectre?"

Garrus shook his head, but put a hand on her shoulder. She could almost hear the 'I want to talk to you in private' the gesture represented.

Tavia nodded and followed him. For a woman used to being in control of a situation, of maneuvering everyone into their proper places so everyone would be as safe as they could be… the sense that she was losing control of _this_ situation left her feeling distinctly nauseous.

And she wasn't sure how to fix the expanding problem.

Garrus: Variable

"Tavia…"

"I'll talk to him," Tavia said stoutly, though Garrus knew her just well enough to know what those little wrinkles around her eyes meant. "We're on a short timetable, I know. I'd give him all the time he needed to cool off if I could. So… I'll be careful."

But she didn't like it. She wasn't happy about having to rush.

"That's all I can ask." He wouldn't feel comfortable just shooting Wrex to make things simpler. At the very least, he had to let Tavia try to talk him around. But the krogan did seem very angry—no wonder—and Garrus' experience with angry krogan made him want to put a mass effect field between Tavia and Wrex. A strong one.

Tavia swung off, nodding to something Kaidan said before shaking her head and patting his shoulder.

"What a mess," Kaidan sighed, joining Garrus and the rest of the Normandy ground team. They formed an odd kind of semicircle, watching the red of Tavia's Bulldog Security polo shirt grow smaller as she approached the krogan.

"I wouldn't be so worried if it wasn't for Wrex. He looks ready to blow a gasket," Tali worried. "I don't think I've ever seen him that angry."

"Tali, go aboard the Normandy and start setting up for the mission. Dr. T'Soni, go with her?" Garrus asked.

The two young women disappeared leaving, in Garrus' mind, the adults to talk.

Ashley and Kaidan both seemed to sense this.

"I'm not happy about this," Ashley announced flatly from behind Garrus' shoulder.

"That seems to be the popular sentiment today, Chief," Garrus declared, watching Tavia stop in conversing distance of Wrex. It took one agitated gesture from the krogan to settle his mind. He knew Tavia wouldn't like it, but if all went well she'd never know about it to complain. If all went badly… better Wrex than Garrus' mission coordinator. "I don't want any accidents. Chief, have your rifle ready. Take him down if he gets stupid. Kaidan, get into position, be ready to put a barrier between Tavia and Wrex. Not that I don't trust your aim, Chief."

"No worries. No one trusts that knee right now," Ashley responded grimly. "And nothing against Wrex, but I like this plan."

"I hope it isn't necessary," Kaidan noted before peeling off.

"So do I," Garrus breathed. He would prefer to be the waiting rifle, but after two occurrences of Wrex checking to see where he was—one of them accompanied by a pointed stubby finger—he felt the wisdom of letting Ashley take the shot. If Wrex saw him vanish suddenly, the krogan might leap to conclusions.

Garrus looked around, spotted Kaidan meandering but found no sign of Ashley.

A second later, Ashley's rifle barked.

Garrus closed his eyes.

The rifle barked again. And again. And once more for good measure.

Garrus opened his eyes as Tavia's shriek faded.

That was that.

Dammit.

Tavia: Fault

Tavia hit the sand on her backside, resultant of a pull she hadn't expected as Wrex's head exploded. She turned, protecting her face in spite of the biotic field wrapped protectively around her. the shriek that tore itself out of her throat seemed to shred its way from her vocal cords all the way out. She waited, eyes stinging, until gentle hands took her shoulders as the biotic field came down.

"Up you get," Kaidan announced, pulling her to her feet and letting her balance on his arm while he retrieved her fallen crutches.

"Thanks," Tavia answered numbly, looking at the crumpled heap that was Urdnot Wrex. ICT students, N7s, did not have 'off days sometimes.' 'Off days' got people killed. Full stop. So why hadn't she been able to talk Wrex down? Was it that she refused to debate ethics? Was it that she regarded, as he so often had, the bottom line?

In the end, it boiled down to who she sided with—or had been perceived to side with. Wrex might have cut her leeway about the rachni after she helped him retrieve his heirloom, but apparently she'd banked too much on his falling in line with the general mindset. Or maybe he'd been too close to the problem and she hadn't been careful enough—

"Blame me if you want to," Garrus declared when he arrived.

"You weren't talking to him," Tavia answered stonily. "And I wouldn't do that." She shook herself, trying to derail her mental train of thought, the better to turn it in a useful direction. "We need to proceed."

The gunshots had woken the salarians trying to rest and brought Kirrahe at a run, his pistol in his hand. "Ah." He lowered the weapon. "I'm sorry the krogan couldn't—"

"His _name_ was Wrex, Captain," Tavia said quietly. "I'm sorry our disagreement interrupted your rest." And he would be better off going back to it.

"I see. My apologies." The salarian regarded the body. "Shall I arrange a Council-sponsored funeral or just dump his body in the swamps?"

Was he being sarcastic or in earnest? She glared at him, looking for clues.

Fighting was counterproductive. She would have to pretend he was earnest. "We couldn't have gotten this far without Wrex. We owe him a decent burial. As well as we can manage given where we are. We'll handle it. Your men need to be as well-rested as possible if we're going to do anything about the bigger problem."

Kirrahe blinked at her, as if he'd never quite seen anything like her. "You have a strange code of honor, Commander. You need only ask if you need anything." He waited a few moments, then nodded and headed back to the tent.

Ashley arrived, looking somber.

She didn't blame Ashley, Tavia thought when Ashley looked a little nervous as she took up a position at Tavia's shoulder. The fault lay squarely on Tavia's own shoulders. The question the whole scenario raised rang in her ears: _you saved the rachni; why wouldn't you save us?_

And her answers rang hollow in her ears.


	22. Chapter 22

Garrus: Plan

"Wow." That was all there was to say, really.

"Yes, it's not our first choice but it is the only choice," Kirrahe declared, shaking his head as he frowned at the space around which they all stood.

" _I_ like it, though," Ashley said grimly, a smile twisting her features. "Boom and we're gone."

"Bada-boom," Tavia noted with a wry smile. She had been quiet and intensely focused—more so than usual—on the mission. He could only assume she was shutting out Wrex's death and the issues connected with it until she was in a stable situation for dealing with the stages of grief and honest consideration of herself.

"Big bada-boom," Ashley chuckled, holding up a fist which Tavia bumped with her own.

"You can take a marine out of the corps but you can't take the corps out of the marine," Kaidan declared lightly.

There was a time, Garrus thought, when Tavia would have bristled at that—more because it hurt than because it was untrue. Maybe this trip had been good for something other than whittling down her physical and mental wellbeing. In the four hours since, she hadn't said a word about Wrex, merely found small and mostly pointless things to do.

He hadn't said a word about the krogan either, nor had Kaidan and Ashley.

He had the benefit of not having been friendly with Wrex: for him, it was all about bottom lines. The krogan wouldn't see whatever reason Tavia presented, he'd made a hostile move, Ashley shot him to protect a teammate.

Tavia, though, clearly blamed herself for not finding a better way, the 'right' way.

Garrus wasn't sure there was one: this was a genophage cure being discussed. That would put blinkers on a person. It would have on him, had his and Wrex's positions been reversed. He considered his ability to consider that an interesting result of this mission.

"Drop that bad boy smack on Saren's turian… uh… _skinny_ ass and watch the fireworks. Uh, no offense, Garrus," Ashley added quickly. She had never exactly warmed up to him, but he sensed Ashley did not really warm up to a lot of people. She was prickly and defensive, which Tavia explained by 'being bitten by circumstances.'

That seemed, in Garrus' mind, the common ground Tavia and Ashley started on. Both had been 'bitten by circumstances.'

"Since you were so very specific about the asses involved, Chief, no offense taken," he waved.

"Unfortunately," Kirrahe broke in, "the facility is too well-fortified for that. We'll need to place the bomb in a precise location."

"Aw shit," Ashley shuddered.

"Damn," Tavia shook her head.

Kaidan's response was less articulate.

Clearly, humans didn't like explosions at close quarters. Garrus couldn't honestly say that he was fond of them either, but felt it would lack something necessary to admit it.

"Where do we put it and how do we get there?" Tavia, ever practical, asked.

"The bomb will need to be taken to the far side of the facility. Your ship can drop it off but only after an infiltration team goes in, disables the AA guns, and pacifies any geth presence," Kirrahe answered.

"We'll need small teams—something to pull attention from the actual infiltration. Or rather, to split up the facility's response to incursion," Tavia said. "Given our numbers, we need to keep theirs split up."

That would work, tactically. Still, it was a weak plan. Looking around the camp though, Garrus had to admit that a weak plan was better than no plan and right now there was no plan other than the weak plan. So…

…full speed ahead.

"Yes. I was going to break my men up into three units and have them hit the front of the facility. Meanwhile, a shadow team led by your Spectre goes in the back," Kirrahe declared, glancing at Tavia's crutches.

"This is going to get _really_ bloody," Kaidan pointed out… not squeamishly, Garrus decided, but with less pragmatism and more concern for people as people.

It was why he wasn't a good pick for a senior officer. He had trouble with bottom lines and hard decisions, even when the time came for both. Nothing against him, since a world full of Tavias and Garruses would be a pretty messed up one—to say nothing of a while galaxy of them. Still, in this situation…

"Is there _any_ other way?" the lieutenant pressed.

"I wish there was. A salarian is almost always tougher than he looks, but that aside…" Kirrahe shook his head. "I don't expect many of us will make it out alive. That's what makes what I'm going to ask all the more difficult."

Tavia nodded, her expression stonily somber. "I understand."

Garrus also saw where the salarian was going.

"First, though, I want to make an adjustment to Shadow," Tavia said.

Tavia: Necessity

"Cinch it up _really_ tight, Doc," Tavia gritted out as Dr. Chakwas' wrapped her knee preparatory to putting on armor and the external brace.

"This is stupid, Tavia," Dr. Chakwas said, her calm tone belying the heat in her words. "If the situation weren't so dire, I would immediately sedate your foolish ass and everything attached to it."

Wow. She was really hot about this, Tavia thought. It didn't change anything, but she had always wondered just how far Dr. Chakwas' calm extended. Now she knew.

"Look. If Saren has a beacon, and we think he does, we have two choices: let it get blown up and have the destination we need taken with it or I can go in with Garrus. Knowing that I'd be a problem with frontline Shadow, I've agreed to take a second group in and follow in their wake—keep them from getting caught from behind," Tavia said. "Believe me, I'm not happy about this either, but it's my discomfort—"

"Tavia," the doctor snapped sharply. "Another fight like that last one will cripple you, do you understand me? _Cripple. You._ Tear this thing up too much and even _replacement_ gets difficult. We've had that discussion." The doctor scowled, crossing her arms.

Tavia swallowed hard. She'd been aware of the implications of further injury; she'd simply been ignoring them, shoving them into the same corner as Wrex's death. But she was still a soldier somewhere in her mind; she couldn't stay out of this for fear of personal injury. "Yes, Doctor, we have. And I'm not having it again. This has to happen. Don't worry, I'll keep to the back. And the more hardline access Tali and I can get, the better things will be on the inside. Hardline access is always preferable to a remote tap."

Not really, but the poor doctor didn't need to know that.

"Let me help you get your armor on," Dr. Chakwas growled, not in the least placated… but too professional to do anything but assist.

Tavia put the weight on her knee and nearly sat back down. The pain stole her breath and sent odd tremors running through her nervous system.

"Tavia?" Dr. Chakwas sounded gentler.

"I'm fine. Let's just case me up," Tavia said, trying desperately not to show how much pain ran through her. It was just pain and it would lessen once she had proper support. She'd worked through pain before. She could do it again. Especially now, when the stakes were high.

Garrus: Once-Over

"We ready?" Tavia demanded, lurching forward. Her gait was steady but ungainly, and she relied on neither crutches nor a cane. Her skin, usually a sun-kissed golden tone, was pasty and sheened in a sweat he knew had nothing to do with Virmire's climate.

"The Chief is going with the salarians," Garrus answered. In the end, Tavia had left the two marines to plead their cases to Garrus while she suited up. In the end, he essentially had them flip a coin. They'd reminded him a little of his own people, ready to serve even when it was dangerous, not backing down.

He particularly enjoyed Ashley's sentiment, during the argument, of 'why is it that whenever someone says "with all due respect" they _really_ mean "kiss my ass?"' She had a fantastic point there.

"Good luck, Ash," Tavia said, catching her hand in a handshake; both women brought the knot of their hands up and nodded.

"Better hang onto it, Skipper. I'm not the one trailing his crazy ass," Ashley responded, nodding to Garrus before shaking her head.

…that… might almost have been a vote of confidence, coming from Ashley.

"What _is_ your fixation with turian asses about, Chief?" Tavia asked, winking at Garrus. "First Saren's skinny one and now Garrus' crazy one."

Ashely sputtered at this, looking appalled. "I'm not… I don't…

"…didn't you say something about kissing chee—"

"You know what? Screw you, Skipper," Ashley grated out.

She was the only one not amused: Garrus and Kaidan both exchanged a shifty look as they tried not to grin.

"Okay," Tavia said, her grin a little more natural than it had been for some time. "One more time…"

Neither Ashley nor Kaidan offered any resistance to Tavia's argument of necessity. Garrus argued, but only because he needed to know that Tavia was thinking clearly. To prove she was, she'd held up a hand. Although wracked by tremors, they were clearly pain tremors and not adrenaline or stress tremors. She was cool and composed so he accepted her argument.

…but for all that coolness, he noticed her eyes kept dragging back to the place where Wrex fell or in the direction they had buried him.

Garrus watched Tavia clap Ashley on the shoulder as the marine broke off to join the salarians. There was nothing left but for Kirrahe to give his men a pep talk. "It'll be weird not having you voice in my head," Garrus snorted to Tavia. It bothered him, accustomed as he'd grown to having her there.

"Don't worry. I'll be right behind you," Tavia promised, patting him on the shoulder.

Tavia: Tech Support

'Right behind' was almost literally the correct phraseology for the incursion into the base. Garrus and his team—Kaidan and Dr. T'Soni—would move up, fighting their way forward, then hit a door or a panel or something which necessitated a pause. During the pause, Tali and Tavia caught up and offered help as needed. In this way, the two tech experts made optimal use of the various hardline interfaces they were able to gain.

"—this was a breeding facility?" Garrus asked as Tavia and Tali caught up again. He stood calmly, despite the trembling asari he had at gunpoint.

"Not _this_ level," the asari responded, wide-eyed in surprise. " _We're_ studying Sovereign's effect on organic minds. At least, that's what I assumed. Saren kept us in the dark as much as possible."

Yeah, on those poor salarian bastards. Couldn't be clearer what had happened to _them_ and it hurt to think about leaving them to die in nuclear fire. But taking them out of their cells and executing them _en masse_ seemed just as bad. In the end, and seeing Garrus teetering on the topic, she'd let her ICT show: the official line was that they would come back when the situation was contained.

Whether the brainwashed salarians realize what that really meant—nothing at all, merely a placatory assurance—was debatable. She hoped they believed it. It would be worse to sit and stew, waiting for a looming death to finally hit.

Focus.

Tavia cocked her head as she studied the asari.

"Wait, you _helped_ him and you didn't even know _why_?" Garrus had the hot-metal smell of overheated turian and the oral venting of heat—as with birds—made him look ridiculously out of breath. Palaven might be a warm climate, but it was also a dry one. Virmire's tropical humidity made the heat stick, so his armor probably stuck in all the wrong ways in all the wrong places.

Goodness knew she felt like she was wearing an oven… and would almost be willing to kill for a big pitcher of ice water.

"Do I _look_ like I had the option of negotiating?" the asari demanded indignantly before giving the room a disdaining look. "This position has turned out to be much more… _permanent_ than I'd expected! But I can help you—this elevator behind me goes to Saren's private lab. I can get you in."

Tavia stepped around the desk. "Move," she commanded shortly. Anyone here was a potential enemy, _especially_ if they'd been studying Indoctrination.

The asari skittered away from her as Tavia cued her omnitool and ran a line to the terminal. Then she blinked and swallowed hard, realizing that what she had to bargain with about Saren was worth next to nothing.

"Haha!" Tavia snarled with delight as the elevator behind her unlocked. "I am _in_ , ladies and gentlemen," she said, quickly cueing her omnitool to begin datamining. "Saren's personal files, personal finances, hell, this woman had access to _everything_. Anyone want to know what color his underwear is?"

"Turians don't _need_ underwear. We're not all… floppy… like the rest of you. No offense," Garrus purred, leaning over Tavia's shoulder. The heat coming off him was ridiculous.

"Ash would be _devastated_ if I didn't tease you about it making sense that turians _would_ go commando. Consider yourself needled." Personally, this revelation did not surprise her.

Garrus was quite literally correct: turians didn't have 'floppy bits' like most species and they did come from a very hot homeworld and one with particularly strong radiation. Less was more in the desert, especially if sunburns weren't an issue.

The only underwear a turian would really need would be lead, and their carapace took care of that—and if they weren't on Palaven, the point was totally moot.

Not for the first time, Tavia marveled at how poorly adapted her own species was without some form of tool or tech.

No fur? Wear hides.

Too much sun? Long clothes (or aloe).

No claws? Use knife.

The list was endless.

"I don't even know what that means, but as long as it amuses Ashley, by all means continue," Garrus responded with so much dignity that Tavia knew he knew _exactly_ what was meant. "Is it remotely loading?"

"Straight to the Normandy, and it'll run until we funnel everything out or until there's nothing to funnel _from_ ," Tavia answered. "We can go when you're ready."

Garrus caught her eyes, flicked his questioningly at the asari. It was strange that she read the question without difficulty. Tavia pulled her pistol and unleashed two rounds before the asari could do more than be startled by a motion out the corner of her eye. She never really realized what had happened, which was the best Tavia could do for her.

In a facility studying Indoctrination, it wasn't safe to let anyone or anything leave. She felt worse about having killed Wrex… or rather being unable to save him. Maybe information on the 'cure' would help someone someday, if it transferred.

Garrus: Proof-Positive

"I found it!" Garrus called as the team moved into the bunker.

"I hate this part," Tavia breathed as she lurched to the fore of the group to stand beside him.

"Look at this!" Dr. T'Soni breathed, stopping only when Garrus flung out an arm to detain her.

"Stay back for a moment, Doctor," he rumbled. He looked at Tavia. "We'll make sure you're not disturbed." He resisted the urge to apologize to her.

She nodded, teeth clenched, and lurched to the deck before the beacon. She settled her weight and looked up at the smooth pillar. She reached out a hand and brushed it with the tips of her fingers, like a matchhead against a strike plate.

The beacon flared with green light, so bright it made Garrus squint.

Tavia, a shadow against the brilliance, lifted off the ground as gracefully as if she were naturally gifted with the power to levitate. After a few moments during which she hung suspended, she dropped to the ground. Her knee tried to buckle, but the brace held firm. She whimpered though, and the sound seemed obscenely loud in the quiet.

"You alright?" Kaidan demanded, reaching her side and kneeling to examine the brace. There wasn't much he could do with it, but Garrus recognized the need to worry even if there was nothing that could be done.

Truthfully, he was a bit perplexed: all previous interfaces had been violent, almost traumatic (at least for Tavia—he had no idea what the effects on Saren were). This one… the beacon must be working properly, undamaged and not able to damage its users in turn.

"Fine," Tavia panted, taking advantage of Kaidan's sturdy shoulder and leaning on it for a moment.

Suddenly, a hologram coalesced above Tavia, even with the deck overlooking the beacon. A red projection of a ship, at once bug-like and squid-like. Garrus' heart dropped to huddle behind the vestigial lobe of his liver.

Tavia's attempt to stifle the half-gasp, half-yelp she let out was not successful. She knew what that thing was.

Kaidan knew it too, for he got to his feet, grabbing Tavia's arm to steady her in case he'd interfered with her balance. A biotic field expanded immediately in response to his sense of being threatened.

" _You are not Saren,_ " the hologram declared in a mechanical monotone that seemed to rattle the small parts of his inner ear.

"No shit," Tavia grunted under her breath.

"Not hardly," Garrus answered, listening—but not looking—as Tavia limped up to join the rest of them.

The hologram seemed to study them for a moment. " _Rudimentary creatures of blood and flesh. You touch my mind, fumbling in ignorance, incapable of understanding_."

Tavia arrived, tapping Garrus' hip so he would know where she was. "Sovereign isn't a Reaper _ship_ , Garrus. It never was," Tavia said darkly, voice constricted as she glared at the hologram with a white-faced hatred he could only assume was the amassed emotion of a dead race echoing into the present. "It's an actual _Reaper_."

Garrus felt his stomach grow cold. That… was unexpected. Maybe it shouldn't have been, but it was.

" _Reaper. A label created by the Protheans to give voice to their destruction. In the end, what they choose to call us is irrelevant. We simply… are._ "

The thing was proud of itself, wasn't it? Garrus grimaced at it, a growl the others wouldn't hear rumbling in his chest as his mandibles flared. His crest even lifted in threat.

Tavia: Reaper

"So you knew the Protheans? Fifty-thousand years is a long time for a machine to stay intact," Tavia noted.

This did not surprise Tavia as much as she felt it ought to have that Sovereign was _a Reaper_ and not just _a Reaper ship_. It was as though she'd known it deep down the whole time… then again, she had. She had always identified ships like Sovereign—those in the beacons—as _Reapers_ , not as _Reaper ships_. That she only really noticed that detail now was… odd. For her, the idea that the Reapers were like the geth in their bug-like ships never existed. She had never had the impression there was a difference between Reaper and ship, but it had been a subtlety she had not expressed.

Thus everyone assumed 'Reaper ship' and she had never thought to contradict them or point out the redundancy inherent in that wording.

Not that it mattered at the end of the day. Machines were delicate; Reapers were machines, therefore they could be destroyed.

" _Organic life is nothing but a genetic mutation, an accident. Your lives are measured in years and decades. You wither and die. We are eternal. The pinnacle of evolution and existence. Before us you are nothing. Your extinction is inevitable. We are the end of everything_."

"You're pretty damn proud of yourself, aren't you?" Hot anger burned in Tavia's guts, a thousand voices, reflections of reflection in legions of mirrors, screamed out anger and vitriol at this smug machine. The sound crashed around her like thousands of trees shaking and splintering a violent storm. "I'll remember that when I hack your ass and make you dance the funky chicken."

Kaidan gave a snort of amusement, Garrus and Tali a warble of confusion. Dr. T'Soni actually giggled, though there was an edge to the sound.

Tavia didn't smile, merely glowered. It wasn't that funny. She hadn't said it to be funny; it was meant to be demeaning, to make this prideful talking dishwasher do something so ridiculous because she told it to and could leverage compliance.

" _Confidence born of ignorance. The Cycle cannot be broken._ "

"Cycle?" Garrus demanded, tensing. "What cycle?"

The extinction cycle, obviously. It was there in the back of her mind, patterns recognized as patterns only too late, half-hidden under dust and cobwebs. Her skin began to prickle into gooseflesh, the humidity suddenly making her feel musty and clammy.

" _Organic civilizations rise. They evolve. They advance. Then, at the apex of their glory they are extinguished._ "

That was stupid, Tavia found herself seething. 'Apex' implied there was only one way to go and that was _down_. Apex, pinnacle, top, it all meant the same: a tip towards stagnation and decay. And then plunging into chaos from which one either rose… or didn't.

"…then the Protheans…" Tali began hesitantly, "…the Protheans didn't create the Citadel. Or the Mass Relays… did they?"

" _They did not. They merely found them, the legacy of my kind._ "

Tavia put a hand to her head, something painful lancing through it. Something about the Citadel… it was like the pluck of a string that produced a noise. The string had been plucked but it was up to her ears to make sense of the sound that was not, without her ears to hear it, a sound at all. Sound—as such—only existed if there was something to record it. Otherwise they were just compressions in the air.

"Why… would you construct the mass relays and leave them for someone to find?" Tavia asked. More and more she felt… strange… as if she was standing in a Virmire facility looking at Sovereign and was standing somewhere else looking at something else that tried to create, between the two viewpoints, a three-dimensional render of a two-dimensional image.

It was like looking for a credit and finding a credit chit… and using a mirror to see in order to pick it up. Everything was backwards even if it was clearly visible.

" _Your civilization is based on our technology. By using it, your society develops along the paths we desire. We impose order on the chaos off organic evolution. You exist because we allow it. You will end because we demand it_."

"They're… _harvesting_ us?!" Tali gasped, her voice breaking.

"They let us advance to the level they need and then wipe us out…" Dr. T'Soni, surprisingly, sounded more intrigued than repelled. "And then hide their traces so the next Cycle can't find them—but finds just enough of the previous Cycle to start the pattern over. Ingenious…" Then, realizing she was inclined to praise it academically but not in practice, "…but utterly reprehensible, of course."

Tavia found Garrus' foot with her own and knocked against it. The Reaper couldn't let them leave alive, they'd seen too much. They knew too much. They could carry a warning.

They needed to be ready to run.

"You're a machine," Tavia said disgustedly, raising her voice in overdone defiance. "Machines can be broken. I made a living off the principle."

Beneath her bravado, Garrus rumbled, "Get ready to run. Kaidan."

" _Your words are as empty as your future,_ " Sovereign responded. " _I am the vanguard of your destruction. This exchange is over._ "

Tavia yelped as several things happened at once. First, all the machinery in the room, in the anterooms, exploded. Her omnitool screamed that her download had been severed. Whatever she had now was all she could get without time, the physical datadrives, and a little luck.

More to the point, a mass effect field suddenly enveloped her, rendering her weightless as Garrus turned pausing long enough to toss her over his shoulder. There was no way she was making any sprints. She suspected Garrus and Kaidan had hashed this 'what-if' out before it became more than the shadow of a problem.

" _Commander!_ " Joker called, voice tight with concern. " _I dunno what you people did down there but that Sovereign ship just hit atmo at an angle that'd tear anything I know of apart!_ "

"Sovereign was _here_?" Garrus demanded.

"Apparently so!" Tavia answered back. She could feel the warble that was probably distress vibrating through her armor, even if she couldn't hear it.

" _It is heading your way and coming in hard. You need to get out of there, like, last week!_ "


	23. Chapter 23

Garrus: Nuke

"Alright, Tavia," Garrus announced, setting Tavia gently on the ground. "You're done for the day. Get to your command hub. Tali, go with her."

It was on Tavia's face to protest, but she bowed to the necessity. However much she _wanted_ to be a field agent she knew she was not up to it and would endanger the rest of the unit if she tried. It was painful to see, but ultimately the bottom line won out.

That seemed to be coming up quite often: _the bottom line_. It was such a cold thought to have and he wondered whether he should worry.

"Right. I'll get started on an extraction plan," Tavia said. "Kaidan! Take charge of the nuke!" Tavia, with Tali in tow, lurched aboard the Normandy.

This was, Garrus promised himself, the last time. The very last time. And he was going to stick his nose into her business—as any good friend would at this point—and tell her to pocket whatever problems she had and get that knee taken care of. Take the time needed to regain most functionality. It couldn't be worse than it was when he met her and anything would be an improvement _now_.

Tavia: Shuffle

"Ash, it's Tavia," Tavia declared as the Normandy pulled away from the bomb site, preparatory to the pickups it would need to make. It was also a practical decision: no one knew where Saren and Sovereign were. It was best for the Normandy not to be in a tight space where maneuverability was virtually nil.

But if one was present, the other—at least, in the case of Sovereign—couldn't be too far away.

She shifted her data and viewing interfaces around her like a blanket. Uncharacteristically, she sat in a chair rather than on the floor or simply standing up, partly because of the brace, partly because of the pain.

Ashley's camera unit looked out on a pinned unit. " _You got what you needed to get?_ " Ashley asked before hunkering down further with a yelp. A second later, she was back around her cover behind which she hid, unloading a barrage downrange.

"Yes, we did. How're you holding up?"

" _We're okay. Could use a little help, but were still in this_!"

"Garrus, Kaidan. How're we doing?" Tavia asked, switching channels.

" _All set, Commander. One big ugly bomb with a big ugly turian's name on it,_ " Kaidan answered.

" _Bada-boom, right?_ " Garrus asked.

"Yep," Tavia answered with a grin she did not entirely feel. "I've got Tali sifting the data we copied before Sovereign pulled my plug."

" _Good, maybe something we can use,_ " Garrus approved.

" _Tavia! Big problem! The geth sent reinforcements we are totally pinned!_ "

Tavia looked to the shaking camera on Ashley's shoulder and found the image occupied mostly by concrete and downed salarian.

" _We're by the AA tower—taking heavy casualties! Look out!_ "

"Garrus, did you hear that?" Tavia asked, forcing her tone to stay calm and in control, her drone hovering near the turian's shoulder.

" _Yeah. Take the Normandy and—_ "

" _Negative! It's too hot!_ " Ashley answered sharply before unleashing a barrage of fire. " _Don't risk it. We'll hold on as long as we—_ "

" _Garrus. I still need a few minutes to finish up with the nuke,_ " Kaidan said. " _You can take Liara and…_ _well, you two can go get Ashley._ "

Tavia frowned uneasily. After having enacted a plan that split up the facility's response to their assault, she didn't like the idea that the tactic might just now be being turned on her. "Garrus, I'll watch through your armor cameras. Kaidan, my drone will stay with you." Not that she could do anything, but she had a bad feeling.

" _I appreciate the company_ ," Kaidan responded. He sounded almost cheerful for a man working with a nuclear weapon—and an improvised one at that.

She recognized a coping mechanism when she heard one.

Garrus: Life and Death

Garrus ground to a halt, Tavia's voice, strangely hollow, echoing in his ears. " _We've got a geth dropship heading for the bomb site. The AA tower team is still pinned. The rest of the salarians who made it to the rendezvous point have been collected._ "

" _Garrus, I'm about to be run over,_ "Kaidan declared calmly. " _I'm activating the bomb._ "

"You're what?" Garrus demanded, his insides tensing.

" _Activating the_ _bomb_ ," Alenko repeated calmly. A little too calmly, really. " _It doesn't matter how this happens it's going off and…_ _no one's stopping it._ _Get Ash and get out of here!_ "

" _Screw that!_ "Ashley retorted hotly. " _We can handle ourselves! We've lasted this long! Go back up that bomb!_ "

" _It's one man or half a dozen!_ "

" _With all due_ _respect_ _, Lieutenant_!"

Garrus swallowed, feeling his stomach drop to his knees. It was his call, and he knew he could not ask Tavia to offer her two credits. She had Wrex's death on her shoulders. She didn't need Ashley's or Kaidan's, too. "Tavia? Have Joker bring the Normandy around to the AA tower."

" _But—_ " Ashley began.

" _It's the right choice,_ " Kaidan responded repressively. " _Give them hell, Chief._ "

Garrus continued the way they'd originally intended to go, aware that Kaidan had turned off his radio. There was no going back.

Tavia: Last Request

Tavia dropped her little drone to hover at Kaidan's shoulder as the geth poured onto the far side of the bomb site. She bit her lip hard, her eyes stinging. She hadn't watched a teammate die in combat since Akuze. This was worse, in some ways, because all she could do was sit there and watch, unable to aid the fight.

Tali was already crying, knowing they would lose _someone_ , the sounds muffled as best she could. This would be a first for her, seeing a friend left to die. But Kaidan was right: it was one man or half a dozen.

" _Don't watch this, Tavia_ ," Kaidan said, his biotic corona thickening as he braced for his impending death. " _I know you're planning to, just…_ _don't._ "

"Kaidan—" Tavia swallowed, her sinuses stinging.

" _Look, just…_ _I don't want you watching. That's all. Just…_ _leave me to it. It's what I want_."

"You want to be alone when you die?" Tavia asked bleakly.

When he spoke, his voice trembled in spite of his attempts to hide it. " _I don't want to die at all, but since today seems to be my day…_ _you don't need that. It's okay. Your drone can catch up with Garrus. Tell Mom…_ _tell Mom I love her._ "

He tried so hard not to let the fear show, but all Tavia could hear was the tremor in it. "Are you sure?" she asked.

" _Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure._ "

Tavia bit her lip. "I'll tell her. Goodbye, Kaidan."

" _Bye now._ "

Tavia closed her eyes, turning off his armor camera and moving her drone. Part of her felt like a coward, even if it was his expressed wish.

Garrus: Vanish

" _Garrus, you've got a very ugly piece of company winging in. Geth are pulling back—they know the bomb's going to go off,_ " Tavia's voice announced. " _There's a clear line of travel. Just follow the bouncing ball._ "Her drone, up ahead, gained a red holographic shell, making it more visible.

"I thought you were—" he stopped. There had been a thickened quality in Tavia's voice, however much she tried to hide it.

" _He didn't want me to have to watch_ ," Tavia said quietly, pain in every word. " _He asked that I didn't. I… respected his request._ " Her gulp was audible.

Bless Kaidan, then. The biotic had known Tavia didn't need to see another teammate she couldn't save die on her watch. "Get to the rendezvous! Tavia says it's a clear run! Follow her drone! Ash—"

He never finished it. Thanks to Tavia's warning, he saw Saren swing in and jump off some sort of flying sled. It looked like something from a vid. The two biotic pulses Saren threw at him missed, but only because of quick reflexes.

Two gunshots later and Garrus had to duck for cover. Saren stopped the slugs with a wave of his hand, regarding them thoughtfully as they hovered, lodged in his mass effect field.

"Bravo. Nihlus picked well, did he not? While inconvenient to me it certainly speaks well of him," Saren mused before letting the slugs drop into the shin-deep water.

Garrus saw what Saren did not: Tavia's drone, sans the holographic shell, was back.

"However, I think this impressive diversion is not quite your style. Less run-and-gun, as it were. More _thought_ behind it. Do I smell salarians or Ms. Shepard on this one?"

"That's probably yourself you're smelling," Garrus chuckled. "You can always give up, ask Tavia yourself. She probably wants to know what her head was worth."

"Thank you, no," Saren waved vaguely. "Fortunately, I prefer cash on delivery so I've lost nothing. Unlike your gamble: this operation of yours has been for nothing."

The drone moved, staying in Saren's blindspot, sneaky and ominous despite its smallness. "What are you doing?" Garrus hissed softly.

" _Nothing, yet,_ "Tavia answered back. " _We're still loading the salarians. Stall him._ "

"I can't let you disrupt all that I've accomplished here."

"Too late. Tavia already fragged your systems. Hope you like to use the save function—otherwise…" Garrus whistled between his teeth to indicate Saren would have problems.

A pause.

" _He's just standing there. I'll let you know if he gets sneaky._ "

"I _wish_ you could understand what's at stake," Saren began, sounding almost sincere.

" _I_ _understand what's at stake,_ "Tavia declared via her drone's loudspeaker, her hologram appearing. " _I understand that the Saren Arterius is working for the biggest threat this galaxy's seen in a good fifty thousand years_. _Bad policy for a Spectre and unexpected in a member of the turian Hierarchy._ "

Saren did not look surprised to see her. He merely looked her up and down. "I wondered if you were going to join this party in person," Saren remarked. "You've seen the visions from the beacon. You know what the Reapers are capable of. You of all people should know they cannot be stopped."

" _I 'know' no such thing_ ," Tavia answered darkly.

"That's because you're a fool."

" _No. It's because human marines never quit, never give up. I guess you really can take the marine out of the Corps but not the Corps out of the marine_." There was acid in her tone, stronger than the acid that had burned her flesh.

Garrus' omnitool flashed, a new voice hissing in his ear. " _Garrus, it's Tali._ "

No kidding.

" _Listen, Tavia is going to keep Saren talking but you have got to get out of there_ _now_ _. The bomb is going to go off very soon. Chief Williams and the salarians are all aboard._ "

And Tavia hoped to keep Saren talking until the bomb went off. Drones were replaceable.

" _Please, don't argue, just do it. I promise, she's recording everything he says. You have_ _got_ _to get out of there._ "

Tavia: Know Thine Enemy

" _The line of all soldiers, regardless of species. But I think you know the reality. Do not mire yourself in pointless revolt. Do not sacrifice everything of petty freedoms,_ " Saren declared. She had to give it to him, he could speak like a statesman if he wanted to. Too bad the message he was selling was wasted on her.

Not to mention utterly insane.

"He who sacrifices a little freedom for a little security deserves neither," Tavia quoted pertly. "And fittingly he usually ends up with neither."

" _Look to the example of the Protheans. They tried to fight and they were obliterated._ "

"You know, there are plenty of fetish sites that would pay a lot to see a turian like you on his knees. You suck Sovereign's hull, too?" She doubted Saren would get the joke unless he was interested in asari, _possibly_ salarians. That sort of thing was probably kept to species who didn't have such an overabundance of very sharp teeth.

" _You are as shallow-minded as you are irrelevant,_ " Saren answered darkly. Apparently he _had_ got the message and she chuckled. " _My mandate is to protect galactic stability. Is eradication truly so preferable? If so, stand where I can see you and I'll happily oblige you._ "

"Must be a bad day for you, finding out that one human bug is so hard to kill. I mean, without me what's Vakarian got?" Plenty, but she was under Saren's skin if he was so willing to indulge in pointless wrangling. Anything that kept him talking was fair game.

If Garrus took things personally, she could apologize later. He wasn't unreasonable.

" _No need to be modest, Tavia. Humans on their knees isn't such a new concept._ _Do you suck_ _Vakarian's_ _hull, too?_ " Saren jeered.

Tavia chuckled. "It is a _bad_ day for you if you're recycling my trash talk. Think about it, though. The beacons haven't stopped me. _You_ haven't stopped me. Your high-class assassin, C-Sec's 'Amonkira'? He slowed me down, but that's not stopping me and he paid for it. How's he doing, by the way? Or did the polonium get to his brain before he got it out of his shoulder?"

"Just keep running," Tali breathed. "She's got him on a real roll."

Saren regarded her silently. " _And what have_ _you_ _managed? I'm still ahead of you and you…_ _you're still bumbling about on the outskirts of forces you cannot possibly comprehend._ "

"You're like every other poor bastard in this complex," Tavia said, walking her hologram to face Saren. "Sovereign's in your head. You let the devil in and there's no getting him out. No chance of it. No _hope_ of it. You are royally fucked, Saren."

Tali tapped Tavia's chair. "We've got him!" she hissed.

"I'll let you in on a little secret, though," Tavia breathed as Garrus came banging in out of breath and cracking with energy like a severed electrical cable. "You're talking to yourself." Tavia severed the link, sacrificing the drone. "Joker! Get us out of here!"

" _Already on it, ma'am._ "

Tavia brought up the ship's external cameras, and watched as the improvised explosive leveled Saren's facility. There was too much time between pulling out and detonating the device.

"Do you think we got him?" Garrus asked after a few moments of silence.

"Assume not with the delay between extraction and detonation. With our luck, he'll have reached Sovereign and that thing will be able to withstand nukes," Tavia answered coolly. "But we were there to destroy the facility, and that's been done. We need to return the salarians to the Citadel and… and I need to write a letter.


	24. Chapter 24

Tavia: One More Time

Tavia and Dr. T'Soni hung back as the unit peeled out of their armor, the unspoken necessity hanging in the air. "One last time," Dr. T'Soni promised. "I hope."

"I appreciate you doing this at all. If feels almost raunchy to—" Tavia shuddered involuntarily.

Dr. T'Soni chuckled. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't get anything out of these merges. Besides Prothean information, I mean. I… I wish you did, too."

Tavia wasn't sure how to take that, so she discarded the information. "Good. I'd hate this to be unpleasant for you." For both of them, anyway.

Dr. T'Soni nodded, taking a slow breath. "Embrace eternity."

It started again, this time less fragmented, clearer, as though a film had had missing frames returned to it.

 _They came for us! Out of Darkness!_

 _The Homeworld burns! The Machines have come!_

 _Who can we trust? Is anyone to be trusted?_

 _They kill what they cannot capture._

 _They take us living! They need our lives as well as our bodies!_

 _See what they make of us? Ruin and wreckage they call a whole!_

 _Who do you trust? Trust no one!_

 _They will come for you! Out of Darkness!_

 _The Homeworld will burn! You must be ready!_

 _Here, you will find answers. Here, you will find means. Here, you must go._

 _Go now._

 _They are coming._

"I need to think about this," Dr. T'Soni said. "I need some time to process…" She began to shiver. "Where are we going, now?"

"The Citadel. Drop off Kirrahe and his men. See what's happening with the Council. If Anderson's there, I might just ask him to come out for a drink," Tavia answered grimly. "Goodness knows I could use one." A strong one, no Serrice Fusions or Armali Sunrises… something just shy of ryncol, maybe.

"Trust me. I'll find our destination world. I just want to be sure of it before I send you off on a wild bird-chase," Dr. T'Soni said, resting her fingers lightly on Tavia's wrist.

"Measure twice, cut once. I understand," Tavia said, getting to her feet. "Thank you, Doctor."

"You _can_ call me Liara, you know," Dr. T'Soni said, not quite reproachfully but something approaching it.

Tavia sighed, looking away from the doctor's reproving expression. "Sorry. Force of habit: doctors are always _doctor._ "

"Work on it. Please?"

"Yeah, sure… Liara."

Garrus: Comrades

Garrus looked up again to see Tavia still leaning on the table with her head in her hand, a datapad and mug of cold coffee in front of her.

He looked into his own coffee, wondering vaguely if Kaidan's death would mean anything in the big picture. He had to believe it did: most of the salarians who survived the distraction action got out. As for Saren… he was such a squiggly piece of work, Garrus would not be surprised to discover he'd gotten loose.

He'd offered to write the condolence letter, and Tavia thanked him… but refused. So he'd begun drafting one for her to append to the one that she wrote. This was his mission, even if Tavia was the recognized leadership aboard the vessel.

He had also submitted his written report to the Citadel; it was the middle of the night-cycle as far as the Council was concerned, though. It would be another six hours at least before they would be able to convene and take his verbal report. Maybe it was just as well.

"How do turians deal with squad losses?" Tavia asked, looking up from her datapad.

"We just deal. There's no private sector, as such, in the Hierarchy—we're military. Not everyone is active duty, but we all do a stint when we come of age," Garrus answered. "You just… everything teaches you to expect it, so when it happens it's not a surprise but…" He gave a humorless laugh, resting his elbows on the table. "Doesn't really help when it happens to a friend."

"I know you and Kaidan were close," she offered uncomfortably.

"He was a good friend. But he'd never have forgiven himself if Ashley and the salarians died for him," Garrus said. He was glad that no one could hear his subvocals. It was nice to be able to express—

He blinked as Tavia got up and looped an arm loosely around his shoulders, squeezing them as best she could with her short reach.

The halo. She was still wearing that targeting visor and so had a read on his subharmonics.

"Is this okay?" she asked uncomfortably. "I don't… it would be if you were human, but I don't know how turians—"

"We're not usually very tactile in public," Garrus answered, though he returned the gesture so she would not think her attempts to comfort him dismissed. "Still. Grief is a shared event in a unit, so… this is quite alright." And to prove it, he leaned into her. Turians preferred not to be alone with grief; grief was something one could drown in, but one had better chances if there were comrades or family present. Humans seemed to cope differently—they seemed to prefer being around one another, but he didn't notice the kind of sharing he would expect from his own people. That human independent streak, he supposed.

"I just… we'll make this right. As right as it can be."

Garrus nodded, appreciating the sentiment. No one had said it, but he knew that he was the one held responsible for Kaidan's death. It had been his decision. He hadn't admitted it to anyone, but he found he could hardly look at Chief Williams without feeling a bitter gush of resentment. The same with the salarians.

Garrus lowered his voice so his confession would go unheard. Had it been anyone but Tavia he probably wouldn't have said it. But if anyone would understand without judging, it would be her. "You know… every time I see Ashley, I can't help but think…" He couldn't finish he sentence. He just _couldn't_ because he knew it wasn't true. Instead, he gulped and drew his mandibles close to his jaw, to the point of aching.

"I know," Tavia responded, her free hand fisting around his. "It gets easier over time. I'm sure she's feeling the same thing towards you."

"What about you? Who do you blame?" Garrus asked, not sure he wanted to hear it.

"I blame Saren," Tavia answered simply and with a ring of honesty that did Garrus some good. "He forced this outcome."

Garrus nodded, comforted by the practicality. Part of him wanted to stay in the silence, but part of him had never done well with silence at all.

"I have it!" Dr. T'Soni bounded in, her face flushed purple, her eyes bloodshot. "Ilos. The world you want is Ilos. Come and see!"

Tavia was out from under Garrus' arm, crutches in place, like a shot, following Dr. T'Soni with as much speed as she could manage.

Garrus was glad of the distraction. He could blame Saren… but he wouldn't forget that the call had been his, therefore the consequences were his, too.

Tavia: Terminus

Liara climbed up to the galaxy map and began shuffling clusters. "The Conduit is on Ilos. I recognize it from my research!" She jabbed at a cluster and enlarged it. "The Mu relay is the only one that connects to this cluster."

"This is smack inside the Terminus Systems," Tavia observed. "Alliance ships—and especially Spectres—are _not_ welcome." There was a lot of garbage in and going on in the Terminus Systems. A lot coming out, too.

"We don't know what this Conduit is or what it does. All we know is that Saren wants it and he's probably _en route_ right now—" Garrus snarled, his subharmonics rising in agitation.

"Garrus," Tavia gripped his arm. "Have you apprised the Council? Of the most recent events, I mean?"

"On paper," he answered. "I'll call again as soon as the sleep cycle's over."

"Can't you wake them up?"

Garrus opened his mouth, then closed it, his mandibles drumming against his jaw. "…I'll see if I can get Sparatus. He may not be up, but he may not be quite as asleep as Valern and Tevos. If I can convey the threat Saren poses, he might rally the others to meet earlier and take my report."

Garrus didn't sound convinced, but he did sound dedicated to the idea. And if anyone could yell loudly enough to wake a sleeping Councilor and force him to come turn off the racket it would be Garrus. He was tenacious like that.

"This is a stealth ship, but I'd rather not go plunging into the Terminus Systems with it without saying anything to anyone. Maybe the Council will be open to suggestions." She did not hope too hard, but she also felt that Saren's natural prudence might keep him from simply bludgeoning his way into Terminus Space with Sovereign. Ruffle too many feathers and people started taking notice. Once people—in the large plural—started taking notice, questions began to circulate. Once that happened…

It was too much to hope for. With the forces at his command, with the plans he had, Saren wasn't concerned about making waves at this point. He had a Reaper with unknown defensive and offensive capabilities. He didn't need an armada, even if he had one.

"On top of that, Saren won't be alone; he'll have his geth fleet. Why have it and not use it, right?" Garrus asked, echoing her thoughts for the room.

"Let's hope Sparatus is a light sleeper," Tavia muttered.

Garrus: Report

Garrus tried not to feel excited just as he tried not to look at the hole left by the loss of a friend. Mourning came later, as every good turian knew. Still, it had been rather empty in the cargo bay with Kaidan and even Wrex gone.

" _Spectre Vakarian_ ," Tevos began magnanimously, " _I'm pleased to see your mission on Virmire was a success_."

Bottom line was 'mission success.' It didn't feel much like it, though. It was why he hated thinking in terms of bottom line—it always made him feel the losses and wonder if the objective was worth it… and what he would do if it turned out they weren't. Hindsight was a bitch.

" _Saren is formidable enough without an army of krogan serving under him_ ," Sparatus agreed.

"That's true, although we are beginning to believe that this goes deeper than just Saren," Garrus began carefully. Until now, he had kept the idea of Reapers on the sidelines. Until now, Saren had been the end of the game. Now though, he was forced to inch the giant machines into the light. "Saren seems to believe that he is serving a Reaper. You may remember the term."

" _Ye-es…_ " Valern teetered, frowning. " _We've seen mentions of this in your various reports. And this one has a name—Sovereign. A sentient machine. True AI. This news is quite alarming…_ _if it turns out to be accurate._ "

"It would be, Councilor. But there is only one way to ascertain accuracy." Their benign gazes made his plates itch. It took a great deal of effort not to let his own sense of immediate necessity trip him up.

" _And Saren said he was serving a Reaper?_ " Sparatus asked. " _Why? In what context, I mean?_ "

"…not to me. To Tavia—Ms. Shepard."

" _In which case these claims of 'Reapers' is nonsense. Something to keep her off-balance. And, from your reports, it seems that her mind gets more fragmented with every passing day,_ " Valern pointed out.

The salarian's words were so offensive and so misrepresentative of what he _had_ said that Garrus had to take a moment to reassemble his grasp on basic communications. He knew the indignation he was currently choking on was all over his face, unvarnished and unmistakable. "Tavia is remarkably strong-willed. She is _not_ falling apart." Not mentally, anyway.

" _The point is, Spectre, that none of_ _our_ _intelligence has turned up any corroborating information,_ " Valern said.

Garrus stilled his rising temper. "Councilors, I have the STG team you deployed to Virmire aboard ship at this moment. Regardless of what anyone chooses to believe about Reapers or the nature of Saren's flagship, there are certain facts which are unarguable and marvelously prove-able. Saren is currently rampaging around in a killer warship with the intention of finding a Prothean artifact called the Conduit for reasons unknown. I think it would be best for the galaxy at large if his efforts to that end were stopped."

" _And that is just as well,_ " Tevos declared. " _Saren is a threat we can recognize. Reapers…_ _exist, so far as we know, only inside the mind of an unstable—_ "

" _Don't_ call her unstable!" Garrus barked sharply, surprising himself at how reflexive the defense was. He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, hoping to loosen some of the ropey muscles there. "Forgive me. I'm sure I mentioned, in my reports, that competent asari have noted that Tavia is both stable and remarkably strong-minded. Resilient, even."

" _Our decisions affect trillions of lives, Spectre, and we cannot act on accusations brought by a single person—not even a Spectre. We work from hard evidence and you have brought enough to work from with regards to Saren. Return to the Citadel at once. We shall discuss this matter further in person,_ " Valern declared.

The nasal salarian tones irritated Garrus more than they usually would have. "Of course, Councilors. We're _en route_ now."

The terminals shut down, leaving Garrus alone in the briefing room. He exhaled slowly, tried to let go of the anger, the hatred, the hurt coiling in his chest. Start with Saren. Then move on to Sovereign. Then move on to the rest of the Reapers.

Tavia: Future

" _Please_ , tell me we have something to throw at those Citadel morons!" Ashley half-asked, half-demanded the instant she had permission to enter Tavia's quarters.

"I'm still working on it," Tavia answered, rubbing her eyes. She had relieved Tali from work on the Virmire databanks and hoped that maybe, in the next line, the next file, something would jump out at her. Of course, the Citadel could have people—the _right_ people, she thought cynically—go over it, but if she could just find some starting point for them… or something she could show to _her_ 'right people'before it could be edited out…

"You know they're going to mothball this stuff and hope it goes away when we finally bust that turian bastard?" Ashley demanded, stalking around the small space in her agitation.

"They'll try." Fortunately, she made a copy of the entire iceberg of information which would pass into Anderson's hands the next time she saw him—sometime during the upcoming trip to the Citadel. She would have liked to send it to Adm. Hackett, but Anderson was her up-line and she couldn't just skip over his head without reason. "But eventually Sovereign will show itself."

"They'll write it off as geth," Ashley retorted. "You know they will." She perched on the edge of Tavia's desk, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"Let me ask you something, Ashley. Do you believe in the Reapers? I mean, really. Of the team, you're the one with the least reason to," Tavia asked, studying her friend's olivine complexion and hawk-like features.

Ashely considered for a long moment. "I believe something drove that turian crazy. And I know that was no geth ship I saw on Eden Prime. I believe there are things that go bump in the night, Skipper," Ashley concluded resolutely, her dark eyes flashing.

"Knowing that… believing that… how far would you go?"

Ashley frowned at Tavia, the knots in her expression rearranging from belligerence to wary concern. "You got a bad feeling about this or is Garrus making noises to you?"

"The former."

"If those things killed the Protheans and want to do the same for us… whatever it takes. I'll do _whatever_ it takes, Skipper. I'll just be happier if you're calling the shots."

"What if it's not me? What if it's Garrus?"

"Are you okay, Tavia?" Ashley asked bluntly. "You're asking some funny questions."

Tavia sighed, then levered herself to sit on the desk as Ashley was. "I'm a contractor, Ash. When the Alliance decides they're done with me, I go back to Bulldog Security. I'm on their 'break glass in case of war' list. I just…" Tavia waved with a hand.

"Worry. I get it," Ashley said, linking arms with Tavia. "Well, to be honest, I sometimes think of you two as a single entity anyway. Come to think of it, I'm not sure when that started. I know it wasn't always like that… hey. Let me ask you something."

"Shoot."

"If Garrus tried to pick you up, put you on his Spectre support staff or whatever it is they've got… would you do it?"

Tavia looked at her gently swinging foot… and the brace on the other leg. "I don't… know. I never thought about it. But… if he did ask…" Suddenly Tavia's datapad gave a tweet. "Yes!" she breathed, pulling to over and scanning it. "Ahaha! I've got you, you turian rat-bastard!"

"I'm guessing you don't mean Garrus," Ashley chuckled.

Tavia didn't answer as she hopped off the desk, her heart pounding in her chest. Something, something, glorious _something_!

She hurried down to the cargo bay, skimming over the first mention her search had returned of the ship called Sovereign. "Garrus! Hsst!"

"I'm still up," he announced wearily, but with that unmistakable note of someone who was glad to have his futile attempts to sleep disturbed.

Tavia pulled the tent open. "Look."

Garrus took the datapad she thrust at him and toggled it. His mouth fell open. "He wrote it down."

"He wrote it down," Tavia beamed. It might not be proof of Reapers, but it was Saren's own log, in his own words, about finding the ship Sovereign—'a ship that was believed to predate the Protheans themselves.'

"It's not much," Garrus said with a sigh. "But it's more than we had. How's… how's the crew holding up?"

"Point them at Saren and they'll claw him to death with their fingernails if they run out of bullets," Tavia answered.

"Gruesome but to the point," Garrus smirked. "Let me ask you something: what happens if the Council says we can't go after Saren?"

"Did they _say_ it or just _imply_ it?" Tavia sked blandly. She didn't like to think that the Council would do something like that… but she didn't trust them enough to assume they wouldn't. Politicians were squiggly, however, and an implication they _preferred_ one not to do something was almost as good as permission to do it _quietly_.

Garrus remained serious but didn't answer her question. "Would your crew go through with it? If we were putting toes across the line, I mean?"

"Right now? Yes. Kaidan's death is so fresh. Don't worry. We'll see how this meeting goes and then I'm having drinks with Anderson. At the very least, we do have to deal with Saren. He's a fact, unalterable," Tavia answered, falling back against the cold, hard wall of facts, evidence… and the certainty of people who had had boots on the ground at the various locales pertinent to said wall.

"Until we rub him out," Garrus responded.

"Until we rub him out," Tavia agreed.


	25. Chapter 25

Garrus: Gobsmacked

Garrus adjusted his collar, reflecting on just how long it had been since he'd worn civilian clothes. True to custom, he preferred to wear his armor while shipside. Now, he thought he looked a bit skinny and just… odd.

Tavia met him at the airlock, dressed for a business meeting… except for the pistol she would have to surrender at the Council Chambers. She was still on crutches and there was no indication that she would be off of them at any time in the near future.

"Excited?" Tavia asked.

"I've got Palaveni flitters dive bombing in my stomach," Garrus answered stiffly. He wouldn't admit it to just anyone.

Tavia gave a taut chuckle. "I know the feeling. Look." She held up a hand. The whole appendage tremored visibly.

"Wow. That's… not really reassuring, Tavia." And it wasn't, even if he chuckled at it.

"No, it's not," she agreed readily. "Ugh. I haven't felt this nervous in ages."

"Know what that means? It means you've finally made the switch back to being a field agent: bring on the geth, the rachni, and the husks—those, you can handle. A board meeting with VIPs? _Terrifying_ ," Garrus teased.

"Maybe you're right," Tavia agreed after a moment, then applied herself to matching his pace on her crutches.

Garrus found, to his surprise, that although being in a hurry he had automatically measured his pace to something she could easily match.

"There you are," Ambassador Udina almost purred. "Thanks to you, Tavia—"

"Ms. Shepard, please," Tavia interrupted.

Garrus smirked at this; if Tavia stuck on protocol now, it meant she had her mind geared for a top-tier civilian fight.

Udina shot her a dirty look, but it was not an unreasonable request—especially since he didn't know her and she didn't work for him. "Thanks to your efforts—and those of Spectre Vakarian—the Council is finally ready to take real action against Saren!"

That showed in the Citadel security measures underway. The average citizen might not notice all of them, though they would undoubtedly noticed C-Sec carrying a heavier loadout while local billboards and notices touted an 'possible terrorist threat,' enjoining caution in the residents. The Citadel rarely got that sort of threat, but it was not unheard of.

He would need to drop a few words to his father. If nothing else, Vakarian Sr. would know what was happening when something bad finally happened. He'd like to think his father would come up with a better plan then 'wait and see' since he, Garrus, was not given to alarmist tendencies.

He might jump the gun, might charge in full tilt without thinking… but an alarmist he was not.

Once again, the Council met them in a private chamber and, once again, Udina and Anderson met them there. Anderson seemed to tingle with the same nervous shakes Tavia worked so hard to conceal. With the need for her crutches it was easier to hide the shakes by virtue of wrapping her hands around the grips. Anyone looking, though, would observe how her knuckles blanched.

"Spectre Vakarian, Ms. Shepard," Tevos greeted. "Ambassador. Captain."

"Ma'am," Tavia and Anderson answered together.

Before Udina could speak, Sparatus cut across him, "We've re-reviewed your reports Spectre and have adjusted our response accordingly."

Garrus did not let is heart leap, but waited for the other shoe to drop.

"If Saren is foolish enough to attack the Citadel, as you believe, we will be ready for him," Tevos continued.

"I noticed security was a little higher than usual," Garrus answered, hoping his hint of 'you can share with me' in his tone did not go unnoticed.

"It is and I know what you're asking. Patrols have been stationed at every mass relay linking Council space to the Terminus Systems," Sparatus answered.

Garrus waited. Then, when it became apparent no one but Udina planned to speak, and as he didn't pay attention to what the man said… "And?" Garrus prompted, looking between them when no one elaborated.

"And what?" Sparatus asked.

"Saren's still looking for a Prothean artifact of unknown purpose," Garrus responded, trying for all the world to sound as though it was a detail anyone could overlook. "Reapers or not, that is still a clear and present danger."

"Most Prothean technology is broken when found—" Valern began.

"Saren had an undamaged Prothean beacon at the facility the STG team and my own wiped out," Garrus interrupted. "Where one, assume more. We cannot take the risk that the Conduit, hidden for so long, isn't functional too."

"And if it isn't?" Sparatus challenged, frowning at both of them.

"Then I'm wrong!" Garrus finally exploded. "I would _love_ to be _so_ wrong! You can laugh in my face and I won't say _a word_. But what if I'm _right_? He calls it the Conduit, which logically suggests it connects something with something else. We don't know what. We don't know how. We know that Saren has an army of geth. We know he's not shy about using them. He's tried to destroy two colonies and has made repeated use of private killers."

"What the Spectre's trying to say without saying what he's really thinking," Tavia broke in mildly, knocking Garrus ankle with her foot, "is that if the Council is killed then galactic stability falls apart. It would take months to get a new leadership structure and months more for them to… adjust their new role to their personal whims. In an emergency people scramble for what's handy… not what's best."

Did she… just look at Udina?

"We're not even asking you to leave the Citadel if you think that's too alarmist. We are, however, asking you to consider bunkering down and remain ready to stay bunkered until the threat has passed," Tavia concluded.

"Is that your professional opinion?" Sparatus asked dryly… but not quite patronizingly, Garrus noticed.

"My professional opinion keeps people alive, Councilor. Bulldog Security, remember?" Tavia responded without heat but with a look suggesting her survival instincts were much better than his at this point. "My professional opinion is this: better safe than sorry with that loony running around. I've talked to him, Councilors. If _I'm_ scared of him, you should be, too."

"We will… consider this," Sparatus declared in a tone that probably rubbed people the wrong way.

It certainly rubbed Garrus the wrong way. "Councilor—"

" _Returning_ to the concrete point, Spectre. The Mu relay, Ilos, and the Conduit are all in Terminus space. The fleet cannot go in without inciting a full-scale war—" Valern began in a lecturing tone.

Garrus, indignation rising, was about to speak when Tavia discreetly knocked his ankle with one of her crutches and spoke up for him. Probably best, since she didn't sound half as hostile as he was starting to feel. This way, he had a minute to recollect himself.

"And the fact that you don't know what Saren's end-game is doesn't bother you? There is a very large, very obvious hole in this scenario and it stops right here," Tavia noted, pounding one of her crutches against the floor to indicate the Citadel at large. "He knows you and he knows how to make you part of his plans, whatever they are."

"Ms. Shepard," Udina hissed, "now is a time for discretion. Saren's greatest weapon as secrecy—"

"Bollocks. He was exposed as a rogue agent to the galaxy at large. I never could tell that this was actually the case," Tavia answered in a conversational tone, refusing to take part in a whispered conference.

"Shepard, this is _over_."

"If you people keep dancing down the holographic primrose path pretending you can smell the damn flowers and commenting on how pretty the artificial clouds are it _will be_ over and very permanently!" Tavia retorted cuttingly.

"Spectre Vakarian. A ship is being prepared for your infiltration of Ilos," Tevos said, giving Tavia a cold look that had something of the strict headmistress surveying an impertinent student.

Tavia met it with complete nonchalance, unintimidated, refusing to look away.

Garrus gaped. "I've got a ship," he said as Tavia echoed, "He's _got_ a ship."

They exchanged startled looks. One of those brainwave moments…

"Perhaps I may suggest that Ms. Shepard be allowed to withdraw, since her part in this is so clearly over?" Udina asked. Then, in the most insincere tone Garrus had ever heard, "I'm certain her injuries give her great pain."

Garrus wasn't sure, but he thought he heard her in the barest whisper, 'I'm about to be _your_ great pain.'

"Humanity has made great strides thanks to your association with this Spectre—but you're rapidly becoming more trouble than you're worth," Udina growled softly to Tavia.

"And you said I had no restraint," Tavia remarked carelessly to Anderson, whose dark face contorted into something that was half a grin and half a grimace.

"Yes, I believe that would be best," Sparatus agreed with the impression of benign concern. "Capt. Anderson, perhaps you'll see her out?"

"I can walk," Tavia answered proudly, before her tone softened and lowered into something like resignation when addressing Garrus. "It's been an honor serving with you, Spectre."

Garrus blinked at this sudden deference. It was highly out of character… "Yes, it has." They were taking her _away_? She was _letting_ them take her away? He knew they worked well together but he hadn't expected the sense of losing an arm, or a leg.

He cut the distressed warble, which Sparatus would hear and which Tavia would 'see' on her visor.

As Tavia turned to leave, she knocked his foot with her crutches and caught his eye.

He didn't smile but he wanted to.

She wasn't deferring. Not even a little bit… but they didn't need to know that.

As soon as the door swooshed shut behind her, a delicate _click_ in his ear told him she was right where she belonged.

"You will go to Ilos, Spectre," Tevos resumed, "and you will stop Saren. Find and secure the Conduit for study… if you can."

If he could get there without getting caught, Garrus thought sourly. This wasn't support. This was just a show pretending to offer it when in actuality—

" _Is that all, Councilor?_ "Tavia asked in his ear.

"Is that all, Councilor?" Garrus parroted, succeeding in sounding like a dutiful schoolchild rather than a man taking prompts from a voice inside his head.

"Yes, Spectre. Good luck."

" _Try to talk to Sparatus one-on-one. He's not stupid; he wasn't really wrangling with us. You might convince_ _him_ _to do something constructive about his own safety. One is better than none. I need to talk to Anderson. When you're done with the Councilor, meet me at Flux. I'll wait for you._ "

Garrus was able to continue keeping his smile to himself as he bowed to the Council's wishes and requested a meeting with Sparatus on a 'similar but unconnected issue.' At the very least, he could find out what the necessary procedures were for a Spectre building a support team.

Tavia: Spider

"Damn son of a bitch!" Anderson snapped as he dropped into the seat across from Tavia. The music of Flux pounded around them, lights flashing in a way Tavia knew would have put Kaidan into nine different kinds of pain. Flux was the kind of place one could get lost in, even if one dealt with serious mobility problems.

She knew, however she sliced it, that the time to do the full rebuild of her knee had come… and that she had perhaps waited too long, as Dr. Chakwas said she might have.

"Which one?" Tavia asked, trying to balance being heard over the music with not being overheard. Finally, she simply leaned all over the table.

"Udina." Anderson threw back the drink Tavia had ordered him—his favorite—and looked ruefully at the glass before leaning on the table too, bringing them almost nose-to-nose. "Looked to me like you and Vakarian had something cooking."

"Not just yet. We need to talk, first. You've been taking my reports?" Tavia asked, swirling her own nonalcoholic beverage in its cup. As much as she wanted something stronger, she had no intention of compromising herself since things would probably happen quickly once they started happening.

"Absolutely. And I've been forwarding them to Hackett. He's playing hands-off, but he's still watching and listening," Anderson answered.

Thank goodness for that. "And the Alliance's position…?" She didn't flinch when asking, which she considered a sign of progress.

"Yes to Saren, no to Reapers. But, like you, Hackett has questions about a few gaping holes in this whole scenario." Anderson indicated it with one thick finger. "The Brass is taking your thing about Saren very seriously, though; we're on high alert waiting for… something. As much as can be done without picking a fight with anyone."

Tavia waved for another round of drinks. "What about you?"

"I trust you, Tavia," Anderson said simply, looking up from his drink to study her face. "You look… better… since I saw you last. Happier."

Tavia appreciated the thought. It even brought the faint curve of a smile to her lips. "I am. Now, what's Udina done?"

"Tried to lock down the Normandy—went through C-Sec to do it so I can't tell them to get their damn mitts off my ship," Anderson growled, his eyes narrowing. "It'll take time to get the top brass involved.

"Is that all he did?" Tavia asked into her glass.

"It's not bad enough?" Anderson caught her eye, and Tavia felt a full-blown smile blossom across her face.

"I need your help, David. I'm… asking," Tavia forced the words out.

Anderson's expression softened a little. She hadn't called him David, off duty, in ages. "You don't have to. What do you need?"

"Pack for a couple of days and make like you're going to resume command of your ship. I'll need to be there, of course, for the official handoff…"

"Say no more. I don't want to know… yet," Anderson grinned wolfishly, tossing back the rest of his drink in one go. Every inch of him seemed revitalized, energized, and it was clear he was glad to be back in the swing of doing something other than whatever he'd been doing.

This time Tavia's smile was genuine. "Trust me. You're gonna _love_ this."

Garrus: Ostrich?

"Vakarian…" Sparatus began wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"If I wanted to bring Tavia in as a permanent fixture on my team, how would I do it?" Garrus asked without preamble.

Sparatus blinked as if trying to decide whether or not he'd heard right. "Permanent?"

"Would you rather discuss the Council taking a temporary leave of absence?" Garrus responded brightly.

"There's nothing to discuss on either topic: Spectres don't work in units. If you need help, you apply to your fellow Spectres. The information and situations you deal with are too sensitive for civilian involvement. Hell," Sparatus shook his head, "involving her in the first place was a problem. It wouldn't have happened at all if the Hierarchy wasn't trying to build ties with the Alliance."

"…what would normally have happened?" Garrus asked cautiously.

"She would have been detained somewhere safe and you'd have visited as needed," came the succinct answer.

He'd have had his face blown off or walked into trouble, more likely. Tavia was an Alliance citizen and wouldn't recognize an apparently Turian Hierarchy detention as anything less than kidnapping a former special operator for reasons unknown. And she would respond as she was trained to, limping around or not.

That wouldn't have done anyone any good. He'd seen the results of her ICT training when someone wanted to hurt her… and when she had questions about why.

"Sir, I'm not asking you to make her a Spectre, but I am asking you to consider that she is my primary resource in this Saren-hunt. Until I know what's going on, she remains mission critical."

"On second thought, let's do talk evacuation which, I might add, isn't going to happen," Sparatus answered flatly.

"Why?" Garrus demanded.

"Because there's no point. The Citadel is impregnable."

"There was this vessel, called _Kara_. They said it couldn't be destroyed. It was," Garrus said firmly. He didn't remember how it came up, only that it had been a conversation with Kaidan about 'sure things.' "The humans had a sea vessel, they called it _Titanic_. They said it couldn't be sunk. It was. And the reason it sank was the same reason the _Kara_ went down: because some asshole made bad calls in light of information that showed them to be bad calls because he thought with his pride and not his brain. A lot of people died for it. I believe we have something similar happening right now, in this office."

Sparatus glared at him.

Garrus glared right back. "I'm trying to protect you, sir. All of you. Saren is a Spectre. If he wants to cripple the galaxy, he knows how to do it. And he knows that your… confidence… will let him do it." 'Arrogance' was more like it, but no need to be antagonistic.

"Why should he? That's something you've never explained to me!" Sparatus thumped his fist on the desk.

"And that question should be bothering _everyone_ ," Garrus answered, reigning in his usual reflex, which was to raise his voice and argue back. "Let me speak to my other half and see what she's come up with. Tavia, are you listening?" he asked, feeding the link to his omnitool so Sparatus could hear both sides of the conversation.

The Councilor did not look pleased.

" _I wasn't, but I did want to be available if you called_ ," she answered pleasantly. " _What can I do for you, Garrus?_ "

"When you were trash-talking Saren, did he say anything interesting?"

" _He did. And I happen to have a direct line to that very interesting data._ "

Garrus turned to the Councilor. "Would you like it in the box, or gift-wrapped?"

Sparatus considered Garrus, the nodded. "Get her in here."

Tavia: Reason

" _And what have you managed? I'm still ahead of you and you…_ _you're still bumbling about on the outskirts of forces you cannot possibly comprehend._ "

Councilor Sparatus frowned as the recording came to an end.

Tavia shut down the recording.

"This… why was this not in your reports?" Sparatus asked quietly. His mandibles pulled tight to his jaw, his talons beating a nervous tattoo on his desk.

"Would it have made a difference? It was mentioned. The whole conversation was mentioned in my supplementary documents almost word-for-word. It's faster to read than listen through," Tavia answered.

"I know she gives a lot of information but it's usually well-organized. She also forwarded a copy of whatever she mined out of Virmire before we blew the facility. There may be more in there but as it stands, you have it right from the source," Garrus declared.

Sparatus held up a finger to silence him. "Your outlook, Ms. Shepard?"

Tavia nearly missed her chance to answer, she was so surprise at being addressed both directly and politely. Apparently Sparatus was willing to take this seriously, which surprised her. She'd expected to end up banging her head against a brick wall before making any headway… and expected only marginal headway at that. "Reapers or no Reapers, Saren is crazy and you never know what a madman will do. It doesn't matter what you believe, Councilor. All that matters is what _he_ believes and he believes he's going to 'save' the galaxy by putting it in chains. Having heard his rhetoric, frankly, I don't see the logic: Sovereign was pretty adamant about the whole extinction thing. Saren's dreaming if he thinks his little scheme is a solution."

It was sad, in a way. The man was insane—driven to it by a Reaper or not—but she honestly believed he wanted to save as many people as he could. It was always sad to see such a genuine drive twisted into something ugly that spawned action running counter to the original intention. It happened, across species, across worlds, across time. It was still sad, however. Almost tragic.

"Spectre… you need to find this madman and stop him. That's all you need to worry about just now," Sparatus said slowly and carefully.

Garrus opened his mouth but Tavia knocked his elbow with her own. "Thank you, Councilor," he said automatically.

"Let him deal with everything else," Tavia announced briskly once they were out of Sparatus' office. "We need to haul ass to the Normandy and get out of here before anyone can do anything else. Things are going to happen quickly, so keep up."

" _Me_? Keep up?" he cast her crutches a pointed look.

Tavia grinned at him, an infectious expression Garrus found himself returning.


	26. Chapter 26

Garrus: The Right Thing

"Ms. Shepard," Capt. Anderson announced politely as Tavia and Garrus swung onto the Normandy's CIC. "I'm afraid I can't get you back to Earth just yet. Udina was supposed to charter you a private flight, but…" he waved as if to indicate the uselessness of the bureaucracy. "Come down to the mess deck. We'll talk more comfortably there."

Garrus' sense of the fitness of things tingled. The crew, too, seemed edgy, as though waiting for some kind of cue. The Captain's voice was too light, too… empty. Not hollow, but like a bad actor who knew he was bad at it and didn't care.

They reached the mess deck and Tavia promptly gave a very gentle chop to the back of Anderson's neck. "Hoo-waah," she announced simply.

"Ugh," Anderson declared blandly and indicated something falling over with one hand before turning to face Tavia, his arms crossed over his chest.

" _Officially_ I just took over this ship," Tavia explained to Garrus. "If you want the rest of the details, C-Sec is locking the Normandy down under Udina's authority. We need to get out of here."

Because the only way to go in quietly, the way the Citadel wanted, was not to be seen at all and the Normandy was a stealth vessel. Garrus understood immediately. He glanced to Anderson; the old N7 stood there, solidly with a grim look of determination not unlike the one Tavia sometimes wore. This could go badly for Anderson; he was risking a lot to take part in this venture.

But he looked so resolute that Garrus was forced to truly appreciate the difference between human soldiers and turian soldiers. Anderson wasn't going to sit this out, and to hell with anyone who said he should: idiots and legalists could chew his ass later. Right now, he had a galaxy to save.

"C-Sec Control, this is Spectre Vakarian," he announced as soon as he had a link.

" _C-Sec control, Spectre, prepare to authenticate…_ _authenticated. What can I do for you sir_?" the voice on the other end was young and hopeful. Thank goodness.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" he almost roared, causing Tavia and Anderson to grin at one another as he began to stalk back and forth, gesticulating viciously to help him get into the spirit of the part. "My SES told me that my ship has been _locked down_! The SSV Normandy. You know the dock number you know the ship. Fix this _immediately_." He ended on a snarl and winked at Tavia.

She grinned at him, winked back, and bumped fists with Anderson.

" _I'm sorry, sir, but the order to detain the Normandy came from Councilor Udina—_ " the C-Sec operator almost squeaked.

"Then it's your bad day kid, because this _Spectre_ just gave you a direct order. An ambassador doesn't have jurisdiction over military equipment _or_ C-Sec's operations and he damn we'll doesn't have jurisdiction over _me_! Now get those docking clamps off my ship, or so help me—"

" _I-I'll need to speak to your SES—_ " the poor girl almost whimpered.

Tavia cued her omnitool and tapped into the conversation. "This is Tavia Shepard, service number 555-56-5557. Do I need to ask the Normandy's Alliance handler to come down there on Spectre Vakarian's behalf?"

"Or do I need to come down there myself?" Garrus demanded frostily, with a grin the poor C-Sec kid couldn't see.

" _I-I understand sir, ma'am… docking clamps away. G-good hunting._ "

" _Thank_ you." With that, Garrus severed the call. For a few moments the mess deck was silent… and full of grim amusement.

"Make sure that poor kid doesn't get fired over this," Anderson appealed to Garrus, who nodded agreement. It wasn't the kid's fault she'd been on the wrong shift on the wrong day.

"Joker, we're on a timer," Tavia barked. "Get us out of here."

" _Aye-aye, Boss. We are on our way,_ " Joker announced cheerfully.

"Be good to keep an eye on, but technically the kid's safe. Udina was out of bounds trying to detain an Alliance ship," Tavia assured Anderson. "He may be an ambassador but that's a political position. A Spectre can overrule that kind of order if the vessel in question is his—and, according to certain wording in my contract it's _mine_ and I am attached to you, Garrus—"

"Aw, I love you too, Tavia."

"—which means that, technically, the Normandy _is_ a Spectre vessel which is why blah-blah-blah. Moving on: civilian say in the military still rests with Parliament; otherwise the only person locking down the Normandy is either legal issues or Admiral Hackett. She's his baby."

So… if they succeeded Tavia and Anderson's asses were covered. Good.

"So why do we have Anderson? Not that I'm not pleased to be working with you again," Garrus said, offering a hand to Anderson to shake.

The old soldier looked surprised, since this was probably quite different than the last time they interacted for any meaningful amount of time, but he shook the proffered hand anyway. And, when he thought Garrus wouldn't see it, cast an interrogative look at Tavia that seemed to ask if she was responsible for the… tempering… of this rookie Spectre.

"Because either we're in the spirit of the law or I just mutinied and broke about a hundred actual laws," Tavia answered. In essence, then, her ass was hanging out if this went badly. "I'm just covering my bases."

"And I want to be somewhere I can do some good," Anderson answered.

Garrus blinked. "You're thinking ground team?"

Anderson drew himself up, body language so plainly challenging even an elcor wouldn't miss the cues. And Garrus was free, the captain said without actually saying it, to try his luck if he wanted. But don't cry if it didn't go his way.

Damn. He'd know officers in the turian military who would back down from Anderson's display—not because it was so very threatening, but because it was the expression of cold hard facts. Anderson was what Tavia would have called 'an original badass.' He could see why.

"Look at me, Garrus," Tavia admitted, it sounded painful. "I'm down. Tali and Liara are both kids—you've said so yourself. Virmire was… not kind with regard to casualties." Her expression twitched. "That leaves Ashley. So either take the kids or take Anderson or do a little of both. He's N7, like me, but more experienced. He's willing and able, and whatever you may believe too old and too wise to let personal stakes compromise his mission."

And _that_ , Garrus thought, was a glowing report coming from Tavia. From his expression, it surprised Anderson as much as Garrus' own improved people skills had. "I'll take what I can get. Get prepped. Tavia, keep Tali with you. We need to talk ways and means." And just like that, the well-oiled machine went back into production.

Tavia: Anchor

"You're looking a little nervous," Garrus announced, sitting down across from Tavia in the mess hall.

"I'm feeling _really_ nervous," Tavia answered. "You know what? Just… don't… let's just don't talk right now. Let's play blackjack or something." Her fingers beat an anxious tattoo on the table, the too-many digits moving at an undobutedly sickening rate before she stilled them and started bouncing her good knee.

Garrus nodded his assent, looking as glad to have something to do with his hands as she felt.

They played more than a few rounds in silence before Garrus broke it. "I just want you to know that… if you decide to get that knee really fixed and if you need help… call me. I'll shake loose."

Tavia nearly put her cards down. "Are you offering to babysit while I make the recovery?" she asked, her eyebrows inching up her forehead.

Garrus nodded, bright blue eyes fixed on hers. "Yes. I am."

"On _Earth_?" Tavia blinked.

"Yes. You need someone to be there for you… and if you haven't done the sensible thing by this point then you have your reasons. Maybe this is something that just takes a different kind of friend. You know?" Garrus was suddenly full of little movements, among them flutters of his mandibles, rapid casting about with his eyes.

Tavia looked at the table. She would feel better having someone she knew could fight at her back while she would be unable to do her own fighting. Just in case. "I can't just let my knee go any longer. Dr. Chakwas says it's too damaged to heal properly. I'm looking at a replacement or permanent crutches." She did not add 'and a lot of pain.'

"If I ever find that assassin, I'll kick his skinny green ass," Garrus offered. "Or, better yet, I'll hold while you punch."

Tavia chuckled; she could see Garrus following through on something like that, if finding the drell was at all possible. "I could get in on that." After a few moments of silence, Tavia returned to the original point. "I might… take you up on that. With the knee." She was touchy about her scars, but Garrus had both seen and accepted. She didn't feel like she had to hide them. She still felt that way about Jenga and Sherry and all her other friends.

Not that she expected to be in a state of undress at any point, but… she preferred the idea of Garrus' company.

She trusted him to tell her when she needed to dial back, contrary to what she wanted. She also trusted him to stand toe-to-toe with her while they snarled back and forth about it. "We'll talk about it after Saren's no longer a threat."

She knew she would get the surgery and do it as soon as possible. She had to: if the Reapers were coming, she couldn't afford to hobble around on a really bum leg, whatever instinct out of that black beacon-burned place said.

"Do you like cats?" Tavia asked.

"Can't say I've ever made the acquaintance of any," Garrus answered. "I take it you do."

"Yeah. I've got two."

"Ace and Ante, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Tavia blinked, surprised to hear he remembered. The bill from the pet hotel was going to be ridiculous…

Still, it was only money, and she would make it up to them. Somehow. She had the feeling shrimp flavored puffed rice snacks weren't going to cut it. "I hate waiting," she muttered morosely.

"Blackjack," Garrus sighed, slapping down his cards. "I know _exactly_ how you feel."

Garrus: Adapt

"Here we are," Tavia announced to the armored party crammed into the cockpit around Joker. Anderson, Ashley, and Liara stood fanned out in front of Tavia and Garrus. Garrus was not thrilled with taking Liara, but the asari had been adamant and presented herself as a mature young woman who owed Saren something for her mother's Indoctrination and death.

Asari weren't, to his knowledge, into blood debts and the like, but it was hard to argue with Liara's angry blue eyes. More practically, without Kaidan, he was short on biotic firepower.

Much to everyone's surprise, they had arrived literally minutes before Saren's geth ships—sans Sovereign, which was ominous—began popping out around them. Although disappointed that they couldn't make it to the ground first, it was a small comfort that they hadn't arrived to find Saren well into his search.

"You remember the plan?" Garrus asked Tavia, more for the comfort of hearing her answer than because he needed to ask.

"I've got your codes. We'll bounce to the Citadel when you give the word. You'll be off the wire until you're in the same cluster, so… it's your call as to when. Just remember I won't be the voice in your head once you do," she answered solidly.

She didn't need to tell him that any more than he had needed to test her memory. Right now, folks took what comfort they could. He'd noticed a few scents mingling while he walked up to the cockpit. On a turian ship it wouldn't be unusual, but humans were prudish.

He knew Liara had propositioned Tavia and been shot down—gently, if Garrus knew anything about Tavia. She had already admitted asari weren't her thing. He hoped she found someone who was. She seemed the type who preferred companionship and simply had trouble finding it.

"This place is _crawling_ with geth," Joker announced, frowning at his consoles.

"Can they see us?" Liara asked nervously.

"No. This ship has stealth systems; unless we get close enough for visual contact, they won't know we're here. Even geth can't watch the whole sky." But Tali's words contained a hint of '… can't they? ...I hope not.'

"Bingo. Right on the money," Joker confirmed.

"I'm getting some _really_ strange readings from the planet's surface," Pressly announced, joining the already packed cockpit.

"What kind of readings?" Tavia and Anderson both asked, in much the same tone. Pressly handed over the datapad which Tavia, then Anderson scanned. "Power systems?" she asked.

"No idea," Pressly responded darkly. "Just…"

"Well, something's working down there," Anderson sighed, handing the datapad back to Tavia.

"Well, take us down. Garrus, team, the Mako is prepped," Tavia announced.

"Negative on that," Pressly returned briskly. "The nearest LZ is two klicks away. This place isn't set up for drops, it seems."

"We'll never make it on time on foot—that's a forested world. You never make any time on them. Get us something closer," Anderson declared.

"I can't clear-cut you an LZ, sir!" Pressly returned with a bite of impatience. "You need a clear hundred meters to pull off a drop. The best I can find near Saren's position is… twenty. A _scant_ twenty at that!" But Garrus suspected that Pressly reran his scans again, hoping to find something he'd missed. From the increasingly sour look on his face… zilch.

"Twenty meters?" Anderson exhaled, his eyes darting around as he mentally calculated figures or bounced around attempts at a plan.

"There has to be a way, we should at least try—" Liara began.

"Try that and you're hitting a wall or a tree at high speed!" Ashley returned sharply. "If we take the ship down, the geth'll riddle it full with holes—that'll end our mission pretty damn quick."

"We can't adjust the descent angle?" Tali asked, tapping a finger over her chin, the gesture eliciting a gentle clicking sound.

"Wish we could. There's a reason we're the only military who uses this insertion method," Tavia chuckled humorlessly.

"I can do it," Joker said abruptly.

Silence greeted his announcement.

"Really, I can do this," Joker repeated firmly. "I bring them in close, it changes the approach vector. It'll be tight, though so… hope you know how to drop a Mako, sir," he indicated Anderson.

"Like riding a bicycle," Anderson clapped the back Joker's chair. "Load up!"

"I _hate_ it when people say that," Ashley hissed to Tavia.

"ICT. It'll be fine," Tavia assured her.

"I don't even know what a bicycle is but…" Garrus shook his head, glad no one could hear his warbled distress.

…except Tavia who, with her visor's software, could see it visually represented. "Anderson can do this. And Joker can do this. So saddle up."

"I _do_ know what that means," Garrus said. "See you on the other side."

"Count on it." Tavia tapped him bracingly on the shoulder before sliding into the empty copilot's seat.

"Might want to strap in, ma'am. It's gonna be bumpy," Joker advised.


	27. Chapter 27

Tavia: Ilos

" _Whoa,_ " Anderson breathed as the Mako skidded to a stop.

Tavia wasn't absolutely certain, but she was fairly sure that there had been less than an inch between the nose and the wall up to which the LZ led. "Everyone still okay down there?" she demanded, trying not to sound too nervous.

" _Your military is crazy. The fact that Anderson managed this…_ _I don't know what to think,_ "Garrus warbled.

Anderson gave a chuckle full of nerves. " _Don't worry. Last one._ "

" _How're you up there?_ "Garrus asked as the Mako began moving.

"Fine. Joker had to do some crazy flying, but we're hanging around the relay, nice and inconspicuous. Like Tali said, unless they're looking out a window, we're invisible and there's a lot of space for a ship to hide in. Come on, let's find the main command center."

" _Main command center?_ " Garrus asked.

"Yes. If a door seals like the one you're facing there's got to be a place to unseal it." In spite of her nerves, Tavia brightened, grinning at her datafeeds. "I've always wanted to say something like this: release the drones!" And, for her own benefit, she pointed dramatically ahead of her.

"I've always wanted to _do_ something like this!" Tali answered from her own tech bank.

" _If it makes you two happy, drones away._ "

In a mission this critical, where no mistakes could afford to be made, Tavia pulled out of storage her alternate recon drone and its peripherals. Thus, each operator could take a different trail if the way split up. If Saren didn't know where he was going, a security lockdown would definitely buy him time to look.

" _Tavia…_ _what if this security system is all in Prothean?_ " Ashley asked. 

"Then we hope Shiala was right when she said the Cipher should give me their language," Tavia answered. "It's highly unlikely Saren triggered the lockdown by fumbling with something he didn't understand. He's too smart for that: fumbling is usually more likely to hit a self-destruct protocol."

Liara hummed something that sounded along the lines of 'gee thanks for bringing that up again.'

"No offense, Liara."

" _Is that experience or the Cipher?_ " Garrus asked.

Tavia considered, then shrugged. "Maybe it's both. I've seen it in my lifetime but there's something… hanging around the periphery. Fork in the road, Tali. Pick your direction."

Garrus: Ilos

Ilos was, to put it simply, creepy. The half-light illuminating the stone complex gave off the sense of being caught outside of time. The forests—he couldn't tell if it was actually jungle or not—seemed to finally be making progress in destroying the ruin. Mummified—or just naturally desiccated—bodies punctuated the scenery in large stone seats. He couldn't tell if this was a burial ground or what, but the idea that the Reapers hadn't wiped this place out was staggering; it was so extensive.

It was also in such good condition that Liara kept pausing every few steps as if she wanted to go have a look and do the academic thing. Fortunately, she restrained herself and never fell more than a few steps behind.

Finally, between Tali and Tavia's reconnaissance and navigational directions, the team arrived at a shorting-out haptic display.

"…it's in Prothean…" Ashley sighed, disappointed.

Tavia's drone—wrapped in an orange holographic shell—moved towards the console while Tali's, with a purple shell, hovered near Garrus' shoulder.

" _It's an automated warning_ ," Tavia answered promptly. " _Just verbal instead of like a beacon. It may even be a recording of someone else's warning. This is definitely the command hub, though. There's…_ _an archive here on Ilos. Refugees were supposed to come here…_ _the Citadel was overwhelmed…_ "

That wasn't a good thing. He desperately hoped Sparatus had convinced his fellow Councilors to take refuge somewhere until it was safe. Power vacuums were ugly and especially so in times of war and conflict.

Like Tavia said: sapients reached for what was handy instead of what was best.

" _It's like this place was out of the loop and needed a quick update. Or not, I don't…_ _wait! The Conduit_ _is_ _here. We need to get down into the archives. Let me see…_ " The drone bobbed around, then Tavia breathed audibly over the link. " _Garrus, I need your hands; I can't just tap into this, I don't think._ " Tavia's hologram appeared, strangely unnerving in this graveyard with its incorporeal translucency. " _Follow my movements._ "

Garrus: Archive

"Tavia, take the Normandy and get out of here. We'll see you at the Citadel," Garrus declared as the team rejoined the Mako.

" _Remember that your omnitools have recording functions. Anything interesting, you might want to record. Just saying,_ " Tavia noted.

"I haven't been out of the field _that_ long, Shepard," Anderson declared, climbing into the driver's seat.

" _The little things are the first to be forgotten. Alright, I'm gone. Be safe…_ _ish._ "

Garrus grinned at the dashboard as Anderson took them into the archive. Before they'd gone two hundred meters, his radio chirped that the other signal was out of range. "Well… it looks like it's just us." He felt odd, suddenly disconnected from Tavia's watchful eyes.

"How do you know the Conduit leads to the Citadel?" Anderson asked.

"I don't. Tavia simply thought the Citadel was the place to be; I tend to trust her judgment. Maybe there's something in her head about all this that she just can't articulate or maybe it's just the balance of probability—Sovereign did say it belonged to his… ilk," Garrus answered.

Ashley chuckled at the delicate inflection on the word _ilk_.

Why did these archives feel like a tomb? A great, big, underground mausoleum. The chuckle seemed so ridiculously out of place.

The main thoroughfare slowly leveled out.

"Are those… lifepods?" Ashley asked from within the turret.

"They look like stasis pods!" Liara gasped. "As if they meant some of their number to come ahead into our time—scientists, scholars, even leaders, maybe! People meant to guide this Cycle in preparation for the Reapers! But…"

"They don't look too lively to me, Doc," Ashley noted in that careful but practical way of hers.

"It seems they've lost power. Perhaps the facility was damaged at some point?" Liara guessed. "Oh, I hope I can come back here someday! I would _love_ to be allowed just a _day_ to poke around!"

Garrus said nothing. Get Liara on the subject of Protheans and she could go on for hours. He'd made the mistake of letting her chatter to her heart's content once. She was a nice girl but had no sense when it came to her audience. If not for Kaidan, he'd have chewed off an arm in order to get away.

Tavia: Interim

The _Normandy_ dropped out of the relay to find the Citadel still present, still beautiful, still peaceful.

" _Commander?_ " Joker called over to comm. " _We've got a priority message coming in from the Citadel. Looks like it's on a Council channel. They probably want to speak to Vakarian._ "

So would she, but she would never admit it. She hated feeling disconnected from the action, especially if _waiting_ was involved. Since the discussion with Garrus on Noveria, she'd begun to feel less like she sat in the rear with the gear and more like she maintained a battlefield presence. "I'll take it."

The Council appeared at the FTL terminals at the end of the room. "Councilors."

" _Where is Spectre Vakarian?_ " Tevos demanded, eyes narrowed with either dislike or consternation. Maybe both, it was hard to tell.

"Doing his job," Tavia answered simply.

" _What my colleague means to ask is why he's not aboard your ship. It was our impression that_ _your_ _job is to assist_ _him_ _,_ " Sparatus clarified, drumming his talons on his arm.

"If I'm here, Councilor, and he isn't, it means I'm under instructions to be here. Which means he should be joining us any minute." She hoped so, anyway.

" _Without a ship?_ " Valern demanded, a hint of a sneer in his tone.

"The Conduit is aptly named. It is Vakarians' and my shared belief, given current information, that the Conduit links Ilos—a safe, hidden place—with the Citadel. Where else would make sense but the center of galactic power? Theoretically, Saren can use the Conduit to show up abruptly with his geth on the Citadel before a response can be scrambled and without having to engage local security. He'll catch the place with its collective pants down. Hopefully Garrus will be right behind him and land the Mako squarely on Saren's ass. If I were you, I would be somewhere else when he shows up."

Not that she expected them to have time. And, once the shooting started, they were big liabilities.

"I also recommend that, if you aren't off the station when Saren shows up, bunker down and don't make trouble for the firefight. The _Destiny Ascension_ is known in the public record as your personal evacuation route. It would be targeted before any other ship." Frankly, she always thought it odd that they would want to use such a high-profile ship when the idea was to slip away unnoticed.

" _Funny thing about that,_ " Sparatus declared dryly. " _We were actually taking a tour of the Destiny Ascension when, for some strange reason, the captain decided to test the emergency escape measures. We're currently drifting somewhere awaiting pickup._ "

Tavia studied the smug-sounding Councilor with an increase in respect. A navy captain or admiral stuck with his post. Civilian politicians… well, different rules for a different culture, she supposed. He got points for prudence. In fact, if she had to guess… he'd probably gone to the mat with his fellow Councilors as soon as he found out Garrus, Anderson, and she had hijacked the Normandy.

"I'll have you understand before I take your suggestion that I will not stand for any interference with the way my mission—under Vakarian's directives—proceeds. You are civilian guests on this ship. You will confine yourselves to your shuttle or pod until such a time as I or Spectre Vakarian say otherwise. For safety purposes." Then, in an undertone, "In case Sovereign tries to blow our ass off…"

" _Commander! Citadel just went red and—aw fuck! Are you seeing this?!_ " Joker demanded.

"My helmsman just indicated that Sovereign has joined the party," Tavia relayed calmly. "Would you still like pickup?"

" _Your terms are agreeable,_ " Sparatus answered nonplussed, despite the distaste for being _told_ on the faces of the other two Councilors. They could hardly argue though, out in space with an impending battle underway and a stealth ship willing to harbor them. It looked to her as though Sparatus had taken Garrus' warnings seriously and even gone the extra mile by putting his colleagues over a barrel somehow so they would fall in line.

Of the three, he was the only one who didn't seem distressed by the sudden proof that Vakarian had had _something_ right; he simply crossed his arms, mandibles flicking.

"Joker, I'm sending you coordinates for the Council's vessel. We needed to pick them up yesterday."

" _Aye-aye, ma'am._ " He didn't sound sure about the plan, he harbored a dislike similar to that of the crew who had had anything to do with them, but he didn't question it.

If what Garrus said of his militaristic culture was true, and that all turians served a stint of active duty was also true, then Sparatus understood war a lot better than asari or salarians. It brought back a thought from her childhood about a table game some of the students at her high school liked to play during lunches: the warrior-tank, the healer-mage, the stealthy-rogue.

" _I have their coordinates. Moving to pick-up._ "

"You know, I could get to really respecting you, Councilor Sparatus," Tavia announced.

" _Imagine what that means to me,_ " the Councilor retorted, but not without a trace of grim humor. " _Awaiting pickup._ " With that, he severed the linkup, effectively telling her to get back to business and don't worry about little details like civilians in her cargo hold.

" _Shepard! We've got a problem!_ " Joker called. " _The Citadel's closing up!_ "

"Is the Council still inside?" Tavia asked.

" _No, they're on the fringes, nice and safe. But get this: the Relay is locking up. C-Sec's chattering about it. The area is being locked down._ "

Tavia felt her stomach wobble, but was not surprised. In fact, it was as if she'd been waiting for something like this. "Yes. This is ground zero _if_ Sovereign and Saren can do whatever it is they need to do. Closing the station simply removes distractions."

Which explained the Conduit: a back door into the Citadel. It must have been a late-war thing for the Protheans.

" _Ground zero_ _?! You know what? I don't wanna know. I'm just gonna go back to flying the ship. One minute to intercept… intercepting…_ "

"Are you worried?" Tali asked nervously.

"Not as much as I was," Tavia admitted. "Having the Council out from underfoot and out of the line of fire are two less things we need to worry about; worry about today's Reaper invasion if they show up." Inwardly, however, she urged Garrus to hurry.

" _We've got the Council. They're still in their shuttle. Shall I lock down the garage?_ " Joker asked.

"Please."

Tali snickered at this and Tavia grinned back at her. No way was she going to risk those VIPs wandering around willy-nilly all over her ship, gumming up the works or acting like the spoiled brats the rich or powerful tended to be. She worried less about Sparatus at this point, but wasn't inclined to make exceptions.

Garrus: Vigil

"Aw, what the hell?" Anderson demanded, pulling the Mako to a stop before smacking the steering wheel with a bitten-off curse that didn't translate gracefully.

The sentiment reverberated through the passengers of the vehicle, prompted by a blockade of yellow energy between them and, hopefully, the run-up to the Conduit.

"It's a trap!" Liara cried, sounding more angry than anything else. Once away from interesting things to distract her, she'd started stewing herself into a concentrated rage against Saren. The kind of rage that would allow even a nice girl like her to warp him into a pretzel if she ever got within sight of him and find deep satisfaction in the action. The air in the cabin had taken on a decidedly charged feeling, although no cloud of biotic energy hung visibly around her.

"Smug turian bastard—" Ashley quipped.

"I don't think this is Saren," Garrus answered, shaking his head. "Back us up, Anderson. I thought I saw something—a doorway or… something." At least he hoped he had.

The old soldier threw the vehicle into reverse and backed slowly.

Tavia's recommendation had not been hollow: Anderson was calm action personified, with nerves of steel even when ramming the Mako through a geth defensive. All the man would say, with a grim smile, was that he played so-called American football in high school. Apparently it had been good experience for this sort of thing.

A glint of light that caught Garrus eyes as they passed turned out to be a door. "When in doubt, check it out," Garrus quoted.

"Sounds good to me," Ashley said as she wiggled out of the turret.

Weapons ready, the group followed the cautious-footed Garrus. Personally, he hoped that they had been specifically targeted, that his hope of this blockade not being Saren's doing would be justified. It would be nice to know there was something useful on this planet besides creepy corpses and dead stasis pods.

The doorway led to a tunnel which, in turn, led to a small alcove, like a communications hub.

A flickering, broken haptic display greeted them. No, not a haptic display, more like a malfunctioning VI. For it to be running after all this time… the Protheans sure built stuff to last. It was really quite impressive, if he stopped to think about it.

Garrus cued his omnitool to record, aware that Anderson did the same thing, as did Ashley and Liara. This would be one of those things that might come in handy. And if the VI was this badly damaged it might not last enough for a research party to get a good look at it.

"You are not Prothean," it announced, "but you are not machine, either. Where is the Tavia?"

"She's not here. We sent her ahead to the Citadel," Garrus answered, hiding his surprise at the question. This must be part of the security system.

"I see. I do not sense the taint of Indoctrination upon any of you, unlike the other that passed by recently. Perhaps there is still hope," the VI declared.

"There _is_ hope—the Reapers aren't even here yet—" Garrus said.

"Wait—why can we understand this thing? If it's Prothean, why isn't it speaking Prothean?" Ashley demanded suspiciously.

Hope interfered with reason, Garrus reminded himself.

"I have been monitoring your communications since you arrived at this facility. Accordingly, I have translated my output into a format that you will comprehend. I am Vigil," the VI answered promptly.

"What did you want with us?" All this sounded perfectly reasonable to Garrus, but his skin prickled uncomfortably. Time was not on their side and however right his mother raised him, courtesy and polite small-talk were not high on his list of priorities.

"To educate you."

"With regards to what?" Garrus scowled, glancing at the chrono on his omnitool. Time was wasting, and the geth's major resistance would come from C-Sec… but C-Sec's headquarters wasn't particularly close to the Council Chambers, and if he had to guess that was where Saren would go.

"It is up to you to break the Cycle, that which has governed for millions of years. But to stop it you must understand it or you will make the same mistakes we did and suffer our fate," the VI answered. "It would be easier to communicate to your Tavia. It is clear that she has the understanding to facilitate the transfer of information."

"Well, she's not here," Garrus answered. "What do we need to know?"

"The Citadel is the heart of your civilization, as it was with us. As it was with every civilization that came before us. It is a trap. The station is actually an enormous mass relay—one linking to Dark Space, to the empty void beyond the galaxy's horizon."

"…are you saying the _Citadel_ is ground zero?" Anderson demanded, shaken.

"I knew that place was too good to be true," Ashley sighed, shaking her head and shifting uneasily.

"Yes. When the Citadel is activated, the Reapers will pour through," the VI declared. "Then it will be too late. Your Cycle will be lost."

That explained Tavia's inclination to the place. In fact, it made sense in the fashion of a riddle: one was never quite sure of an answer until it was delivered by the riddle-giver.

Here was hoping Sparatus had more brains than crest. At the moment, Garrus wasn't in the mood to think charitably about politicians, even if their deaths would play into the Reapers' hands. Obliterate a power structure in the first strike and everyone left scrambled for… something. Cohesion was the first thing to go in a crisis such as the Reapers were instigating.

"Vakarian, if they have control of the relays, we can't get the Fleet in," Anderson urged.

He'd wondered about what 'high alert' meant. "Talk fast, we don't have a lot of time,"

The VI complied. "Once the Reapers have the Citadel, they have the mass relays. The Reapers cut off their prey from the whole and then systematically purge the galaxy. The Reapers accessed all our records: census data, maps, prominent personnel. They knew everything about us. They knew how to cripple us further.

"Those the Reapers did not exterminate were made into slaves, Indoctrinated and released. Taken in as refugees, they ultimately betrayed their benefactors to the machines. Over the centuries we were killed or enslaved. The slaves were then used to strip our worlds bare, removing resources, technology, proof of the war. Once they were certain all advanced organic life had been extinguished, the Reapers returned through the Citadel and sealed it behind them."

"The greatest trick the devil played was convincing the world he didn't exist," Ashley muttered.

Which made Garrus realize something that everyone should have realized before: if the Protheans were so scanty about what they left behind… how had the network of mass relays and the Citadel survived? They were about as obvious as an asari in a room full of pyjaks and conveniently hanging around in space, whereas Prothean data caches were rare and hard to find, hard to decode, even. This oversight of an aberration in pattern was, in itself, staggering.

"Those indoctrinated slaves remaining, incapable of independent thought, died," the VI concluded.

It was a pretty grim picture.

"Why?" Liara asked, her voice quavering. "Why would they do this? What do they gain?"

"Unknown. Perhaps they need slaves or resources. More likely, they are driven by motives and goals that organics cannot hope to comprehend."

"Bullshit," Ashley snorted.

"Correct. Survival depends not on understanding but upon stopping the Reapers. We Protheans were on the cusp of developing our own mass relay technology. The Conduit is the result. It links directly—"

"To the Citadel," Garrus supplied.

"Hey, didn't El-Tee say one of those weird statues made his teeth buzz? Like it was giving off a mass effect field?" Ashley asked abruptly, looking surprised at remembering such an at-the-time unimportant detail.

"I wasn't there for that conversation, but it makes sense," Garrus answered. "How did the Reapers not know about this place?"

The VI's answer was as prompt as all the others had been. "Communications with the wider galaxy was severed in the first attack. Records were lost. We disappeared."

"That's what Tavia said about the control hub: the message trying to bring them up to date," Anderson breathed.

Garrus finally reached the end of his patience. Had Saren made it through the Conduit? Was Sovereign blasting ships out of the sky? "Look, we don't have a lot of time. What else do I need to know?"

"The Keepers are the key. They activate the Citadel relay. Researchers from this facility… adjusted… them. When the signal went out to call the Reapers back from Dark Space… the Keepers did not respond. Here." A small drawer or drive opened, revealing a disk, not unlike an OSD. "When you reach the Citadel's master control unit, upload it to the station. It will give you temporary control. It may give you an advantage."

"If Saren has to use it too, then all we have to do is follow him," Anderson said, shifting from foot to foot.

"The one you call Saren has not yet reached the Conduit," Vigil stated. "You can still catch up to him."

"Back to the Mako!" Garrus barked, but the others were already moving before he finished.

They arrived at a sprint to find the obstruction gone (and another one behind them, covering their rear).

"Hold on, this is gonna be crazy!" Anderson announced, sending the Mako careening forward.


	28. Chapter 28

Tavia: Linked-Up

Tavia had almost five seconds of warning: a soft click indicating her radio link was back and a haptic panel that ceased to display static.

" _Tavia! Report!_ " Garrus' voice boomed over the comms. He sounded ready to fly off in a hundred directions if he couldn't get information _right now_.

"I have the Council," Tavia answered. "But Sovereign is inside the Citadel, which is now closed."

" _We can fix that! Where are we? The place looks… weird,_ " Garrus finished lamely, some of the too keyed-up energy receding from his voice.

"Probably simple disorientation. You are… huh. Right outside the mass effect model on the Presidium. Find the nearest Aveena Terminal. She might be able to give you some answers. If she can't… well. Maybe she'll talk to me." Tavia grinned. Machines liked talking to her… or thought they did.

Several grim chuckles accompanied this as Tavia turned her drone about. The Mako's nose was crumpled with the impact against the nearest wall. The wall looked somewhat the worse for wear, but there was little hope for the Mako without serious repairs.

She had to grin: someone had finally killed it.

The emergency lighting gave the Citadel a bloody, surreal cast. Given the fires, it seemed that the geth and Saren were making no efforts to be stealthy.

Probably they'd secured the Presidium—or were in the process of doing so—and would pacify the population only if it became necessary. If the Reapers poured through… well, it would probably be faster to just vent the station. The thought made her insides cringe.

"What have you learned?" Tavia asked, her drone bobbing ahead to the nearest Aveena terminal. She adjusted the camera in the cargo bay. The Council continued to abide by her requirements that they curtail their movements and confine themselves to the shuttle.

" _Too much for a short conversation. In short, if it's too good to be true, it probably is,_ " Garrus growled.

Garrus: Saren

"Here we are," Garrus panted, helping the others out of the elevator shaft. Negotiating the ninety degree in orientation in magboots was a little strange and there was no reason for everyone to scramble awkwardly as he had. At least Ashely had spared him any commentary she might have had.

" _I don't expect much talking, but if he does, capture it. It's all we'll have from him,_ " Tavia advised.

"Tavia, I've got to ask," Garrus rumbled, moving in a crouch. "Do you really think all this is going to matter? Or do you think the galaxy is going to look at this mess and say 'the Citadel's inert, we're safe'?"

" _I don't want to think that far ahead right now_." Her refusal to answer was an answer in itself.

He'd been worrying about this since the conversation with Vigil. Would one victory—assuming they could pull it off—would one victory be enough in the grand scheme of things? Or would one victory be followed by a temporary flurry of action… which would die down with each day, each week, each month that the Reapers didn't show up? Was the threat represented so great that it would stagger preparations into stagnancy? Even with all the data, all the logging Tavia insisted on and that which she had procured herself… would it be easier for those with the power to affect change to hide it away and pretend everything was fine?

He didn't trust politicians; there was a reason the slang for them was the same as for other kinds of scum—barefaced. Would they love power more than they accepted responsibility? Would they be willing risk accusations of insanity or alarmist tendencies in order to do what was necessary?

Then again… how did one prepare for an army of Sovereigns? He had no answer for that. Then again, right now, it was all academic.

" _There he is! I have visual,_ " Tavia announced, her voice tense.

"Go say hello. Anderson, Ashley," Garrus motioned the two soldiers to peel off to the flanks, while beckoning Liara to follow him.

Tavia: Hello, Ugly

"Hello, ugly. Fancy seeing you here," Tavia announced as brightly as she could, sending her drone forward with her holographic projection enabled.

Saren turned with a sharp movement indicating twitchy nerves, but he didn't open fire on the drone. His expression went from concentration to beside himself with rage in the blink of an eye. When he spoke, his tone had a vicious edge, despite the calmness with which he spoke. " _I take it Vakarian is lurking somewhere?_ "

"Couldn't I be here to see you? We had such a charming conversation last time," she returned.

" _Tavia. If I wreck that console so he can't use it, can you hack it?_ " Garrus asked urgently.

She muted the drone's speaker. "Depends on where you hit it. If you just kill the interface so he can't manually input whatever he's doing and if you can run me a remote tap after you've destroyed the interface, then by all means do."

" _To be honest, I was afraid you wouldn't make it in time,_ "Saren declared, stepping away from the haptic interface. She could only hope he hadn't finished unsealing the Citadel. It was certainly still closed. " _You've lost, you know. In a few minutes, Sovereign will have full control of all the Citadel's systems—_ "

A single well-placed bullet wrecked the console's interface. " _Oops_ ," Garrus announced as he prowled into sight. " _Guess you're gonna need something a little more sophisticated than three fingers._ "

Tavia chuckled darkly at this. It wasn't really funny, she shouldn't be laughing.

She gritted her teeth against a pointless warning when Saren, his expression a picture of rage, drew his sidearm and sent several rounds in Garrus's direction.

A biotic blue barrier rippled around the younger turian as several people opened fire at once.

Saren's own biotic barrier rippled and died. His shields took over as he dove out of sight, falling into the ornamental garden below the Council's formal presentation deck.

" _How's it feel to be on the run?_ " Garrus demanded.

" _Run? I've no need to run from the stubborn son of a C-Sec agent. I've certainly no need to run from a cripple whose effectiveness is limited to a hologram with a smart mouth,_ " Saren answered viciously. " _She was right about one thing, however: without her, you're mediocre to the last degree… if that._ "

Garrus snorted and although he sounded nettled Tavia didn't think Saren was under his plates.

A moment later, Saren rose up, using the same geth sled—or whatever it was—he'd used on Virmire and with a neat use of biotic energy send the two grenades in his hand flying in the directions of Anderson and Ashley. Shouts came from both sides, Saren easily deflecting the ammunition Garrus unloaded as well as the biotic pulse Liara sent at him.

" _As you can see,_ " Saren declared, a smug calm settling into his tone. " _I have been…_ _upgraded…_ _since our last encounter_."

"Garrus. Ash and Anderson are fine, just knocked around. They're both picking new positions. See if you can find out about that upgrade thing."

" _Upgrade? You mean you let that thing warp you! Corrupt you!_ " Garrus challenged.

" _Don't think I don't know who prompted that question. I've got nothing to say on the subject. It's a pity you're both so stubborn. The new order has room for men and women like us—people of action. Sovereign admires you both—thought it prefers to think of you as a single unit. I'd offer you an opportunity to change your mind, to surrender and be spared, but I doubt you'd take it._ "

"Huh. So you're not as dumb as you look," Tavia noted. Muting the drone again, she turned to Tali. "Tali, your drone is still up. There's a detonation protocol. See if you can get in close to him while he's watching everyone else."

"Alright…" Tali took a deep breath, then moved her drone around, out of the shadows where it waited pending something bad happening to the one Tavia used.

"Garrus, Liara, Ash, Anderson. Tali's going to provide you a distraction. When the drone blows, unload everything you've got. Overkill is underrated at this point," Tavia announced.

Garrus: Overkill

Thank goodness for an eye in the sky. The biotics had thrown Garrus the first time and he was still not sure what to do about them. Blow an amp? Did Saren even _have_ an amp to blow, or was it just Reaper tech?

"I'm actually _not_ with Tavia on this one. You're _just_ as dumb as you look," Garrus echoed, trying not to look around for the little drone that had to be sneaking up so carefully upon Saren. He never remembered a particular sound associated with Tavia's drone; if there was one, it had become a familiar sound. "Reaper implants? Knowing what they can do to an unprotected mind?"

"The relationship is symbiotic," Saren—or, maybe Sovereign by this point, it was hard to tell—answered. "Organic and machine, intertwined, a union of flesh and steel."

"That answers your question, Tavia. About sucking hulls. I'm not sure _how_ , but it does," Garrus retorted.

Saren's eyes suddenly flashed red, but he got no further.

" _Hey, bosh'tet._ " Tali's viciously smug voice came across her drone's speaker as the little orb appeared behind Saren. He turned at the new stimulus just as the drone exploded, peppering him with shrapnel—not much, as it was only a small drone, but enough to cause problems if his scream was any indication.

It happened in a split second. Liara grabbed Saren with her biotics, the corona flaring wildly around her. Saren's did too, but feebly. He wiggled like a fish in her grip as everyone with a gun loaded round after round into him until he stopped moving.

Liara, with a snarl wrenched with her biotics, twisting Saren's neck. She tossed the body aside as Garrus sprinted to the ruined console. "Tapping you in, Tavia," he announced, slipping Vigil's disc into the OSD drive (and hoping it would work).

" _You might want to put a few more rounds into that thing, just to be safe_ ," Tavia said. " _Overkill is_ _highly_ _underrated._ "

"Everyone alright? Ashley? Anderson? Liara?" Garrus called, looking around to see where the others were.

"Fine. But I hope that clown's not," Ashley answered, stomping over to the corpse and following Tavia's suggestion of a few more rounds to the head before kicking him over the edge into the sunken garden so she wouldn't have to look at him.

"I'm fine," Anderson answered, waving. He lumbered over to stand by Tavia's drone, watching the sparking console. "Nice shot."

"Thanks."

Tavia: Tech

Tavia worked quickly. For such an advanced piece of technology, it was remarkably simplistic. "There! I've got control," Tavia announced. "The Widow relay is… open."

" _Get the_ _Citadel_ _open!_ " Garrus barked. " _Our Fleet's got to be able to see Sovereign if we're going to kill it!_ "

Our Fleet. She didn't miss the way teamwork spilled over to available resources.

She approved.

"Opening," Tavia answered. Vigil's disc worked like a snowplow, clearing the road and all she had to do was follow.

" _The cavalry has arrived!_ " Joker whooped.

"The fight's all yours, helmsman," Tavia announced with a wolfish grin. "Proceed at your discretion."

Joker's laugh would not normally have bolstered her courage, but only half her attention was on the events outside.

"Whoa!" Tavia blinked as her connection to the Citadel's systems suddenly severed. In fact, for a moment she thought the surge had killed all her equipment until it rebooted itself. "Guys, I think Sovereign just killed my link. I've got nothing. I'll have to get back into the system—no guarantees he won't just boot my ass again," she said blankly.

…at least he hadn't killed her equipment…

" _I've got a bad feeling about this…_ " Ashley muttered.

" _Look out_!" Liara screamed.

Tavia looked immediately to the asari's armor camera and gaped as Saren, head almost destroyed, bleeding from numerous wounds jumped out of the sunken garden, landed by Anderson. The body, propelled by Reaper tech and exactly like the puppet Saren had been called, grabbed and effortlessly threw the marine down into the chamber.

From the darkness in the panel displaying Anderson's armor-cam footage, Tavia concluded he was facedown and that the blow had stunned him—light flickered as if he was trying to push himself up but was having limited success.

"Anderson!" Tavia shouted, resenting once again her position of being unable to interact with the corporeal world in which her comrades worked.

Garrus: Fallout

Panting and more than a little discomposed, Garrus looked at the second-time newly dead husk of Saren. It sparked and fizzled, then slowly went dark until it was nothing more than a wrecked machine with organic matter clinging it its endoskeleton. "Anderson?" he shouted.

No answer.

"Dammit—" Ashley reached the edge of the garden and slipped in, landing with a sonorous clank. "He's alive!" she called. "Knocked around, but he's fine! Come on, sir, wake up…"

"Copy that, Tavia? Anderson's fine." Garrus panted, aware that the air around him smelled faintly metallic as he tried to vent his own body heat.

" _Whatever you did down there seemed to have glitched Sovereign or given it some kind of negative feedback. It's stalled and the Fleet's making good use of the fact._ "Tavia relayed. " _I think all you can do now is sit back and wait for pickup._ "

"What about you?"

" _Joker's putting his two credits in. I think the VIPs are about to start losing their lunches, though. It's hard to be kept in the dark,_ "she answered sagely. She would know, literally and metaphorically. " _Are you okay?_ "

"Me? Fine. Scuffed a couple plates, but I'm okay. Anderson seems to have taken a knock to the head, but Ashley's bringing him around," Garrus asked, edging towards the edge so he could peer down at the marines.

" _I'm glad it's just a knock to the head—get to cover!_ "Tavia suddenly screamed. " _Go go go_!"

Garrus looked up to see shrapnel heading towards the windows that provided most of the light in the Council chambers. "Cover!" he shouted, echoing Tavia's warning as he threw himself forward, Tavia's drone at his shoulder.

Tavia: Wait

Tavia waited.

It was all she could do as the rescue teams finally set down on the Citadel with the intention of looking for Garrus and the others.

They were fine. They were all fine and she knew they were fine: there was nothing wrong with their radio links or their cameras. It was dark where they were, but not totally pitch-black and everyone could answer her demand for a radio check.

It was just difficult being made to _wait_.

She imagined it wasn't any easier for them, even with her pipelining situational information.

Watching Sovereign suddenly come apart under the combined firepower of the Alliance Fleet—that goodness for Adm. Hackett!—and any of the shipsin-system would have been spectacular had the shrapnel not gone straight into the Citadel Tower… right where her unit was.

Tavia disengaged herself from her monitoring equipment. "Keep an eye on things, Tali. I'll brief the Council that the immediate threat is over. They've stewed long enough." As glad she as was that they'd listened to reason and got the hell out before it became necessary, they were still idiots in her book until they did something to adjust her view.

She sincerely hoped that they would be eager to return to the Citadel and that, in that eagerness, they might allow a passenger.

Garrus: Unexpected

"Damn it all, Tavia!" Garrus snapped as Tavia came swinging into the C-Sec medbay. "What part of 'stay safe' _don't_ you understand?"

"Oh, quit your grousing," Tavia responded blithely, dropping into the chair opposite him. "I am safe. If you wanted me to stay on the Normandy you should have—"

"How did you even _get_ here?" Garrus demanded. "You didn't _walk_ all the way." It was not a question.

"No. I taxied in with the Council. They were so glad to get out of my shuttle bay, you have _no_ idea," Tavia whispered conspiratorially. "Councilor Sparatus was particularly willing to rejoin me with my comrades. Tali's still shipside in case anything goes wrong."

Garrus sighed, leaning forward, is elbows on his knees. "The geth?"

"The all tried to cut and run once Sovereign went down. More than a couple got mopped up by the Fleet and whatever locals were left," Tavia answered briskly. "Casualties are high… but low compared to the alternative. They could have vented the Citadel before trying to bring the Reapers through."

Garrus nodded, appreciating the relative numbers. And they _had_ stopped the Reapers… for now. He couldn't see them giving up so easily, though.

Tavia lapsed into silence.

He didn't want silence. "Do you know what C-Sec is doing?"

"The usual responses to a contained terrorist threat," Tavia answered. "For the most part, they're running the standard playbook—and it seems to be working. At the very least it's familiar for all involved, C-Sec and civilians. There are pockets of geth still aboard the Citadel, but only pockets. Nothing like what we've seen over the past months."

"Good." His brain felt saturated, or maybe it was just suddenly empty. The immediate threat was gone, but the one on the horizon suddenly seemed so much closer. That and he expected something horrible to happen in the next few minutes.

From the accounts he had about the space battle, it had been remarkably short—casualties were high but Sovereign had gone down fairly quickly for being an unknown ship with unknown capabilities… and it was hinted strongly that if it hadn't glitched and gone offline (or whatever it had done) casualties would have been _very_ high and Sovereign would not have gone down at all.

"I need to check on the others," Tavia announced, getting to her feet with a grunt.

"Come back when you're done?"

Tavia looked down at him. For a moment he thought she might ask what was wrong. "Right back," she agreed, touching his shoulder before swinging off.

Garrus found himself half smiling, semi-consoled. Apparently he was not the only one worried about the future. He was just the one tied down until the Council was ready to speak with him. He recognized the restless need to be doing something when he saw it.

Tavia: The Council

Tavia shifted uncomfortably on her crutches. Or maybe she was just unnerved by how rapidly the Keepers had nearly restored the Council Chambers to their proper elegance. It made her nauseous to contemplate it, given what she knew about them.

Or maybe she was used to having Garrus on hand for these meetings. She'd seen very little of him in the last week and found she missed their casual conversations. When he did contact her it was usually via radio or the Normandy's comm-terminals and it was always business-related.

Now, here she was in the Council Chambers with Udina for company and Anderson for reassurance. Reporters and spectators filled the room as was usual for these sorts of public rulings. For the past three days she had attended half a dozen ceremonies and at least as many social functions.

Garrus was the hero of the hour, but he'd done such a good job making sure everyone knew his efforts would have been nothing without hers that people no longer resisted the idea. These formal events made up most of her actual facetime with Garrus. He always seemed to be called away after a few minutes of mingling and usually asked whether he needed to 'require her expertise', thereby bailing her out if she wished.

If so, then the skycar would drop him off where he needed to be and take her back to the _Normandy_. She knew the benefit of making nice and networking… but even she could only take so much.

He always looked so tired; she'd started to worry.

"Ambassador, Captain, Ms. Shepard," Councilor Tevos announced as she drifted in with the other two Councilors behind her. To Tavia's surprise, Garrus followed Sparatus and took up a position in the back of the group, his hands folded behind his back, his expression bright and intent. "We have gathered here today to recognize the enormous contributions of the Alliance forces in the war against Sovereign and the geth."

Oh, so it was Sovereign and the geth, now, not Saren and the geth.

And now it was an actual _war_.

She'd take it. It was better than the denial she feared.

"Many humans lost their lives in the battle to save the Citadel, brave and courageous soldiers who willingly gave their lives that others might live," Valern proclaimed.

In one of the rare moments of humor in Garrus' communiques, he mentioned that the Council had been appalled to find out the Alliance had had this 'just in case' not only well planned but well executed and it was to the Human Systems Alliance's volunteered aid that the Council owed the Citadel's safety and Sovereign's demise.

"There is no greater sacrifice and we share your grief over the tragic loss of so many noble men and women," Sparatus continued.

Him, she believed. She also believed he was personally embarrassed that the Turian Hierarchy had been caught with their pants down. The turian fleet to the rescue would have been business as usual. The Alliance doing it, though… embarrassing. The fight was over by the time the Hierarchy got their pyjaks in a row.

"The Council also owes you a great personal debt, Ms. Shepard. One we can never repay," Tevos took over. "Your actions saved not just our lives, but billions of other lives from Sovereign and its fellow Reapers."

"Your heroic and selfless actions serve as a symbol of everything humanity and the Alliance stand for," Valern continued.

She let it slide. Months of working with Garrus, of doing the job she was trained to do, had softened in some measure the resentment against the Alliance. Strange how much healing her soul had undergone while her body kept taking damages.

She'd take it.

"And although we cannot bring back those valiant soldiers, we can and will honor their memories through our actions." Turians were, after all, big on that sort of thing.

Garrus looked very different from the playing-spook Spectre who'd walked into her office with Anderson that sunny day. He seemed quite at his ease, comfortable in his role.

It was strange to think that, once her contract with the Alliance—essentially the duration of the Saren/Sovereign mission—was over, she would see little if anything of him. She supposed there was the extranet, but knew she would worry about him getting his face or ass blown off. If what snatched chunks of conversation she'd heard over the last few social functions were true, he was a very handsome individual as turians went.

She didn't see it herself, but to each their own. It would be a shame for him to get his face blown off.

"Humanity has shown that it is ready to stand as a defender and protector of the Galaxy," Sparatus announced magnanimously.

Tavia blinked. What? It was a near miss that she didn't voice the question aloud.

Udina's sharp intake of breath told her she'd heard Sparatus correctly.

"As a representative of your people, you have proved they are worthy to join our ranks and serve beside us. The Council has agreed that humanity has earned a place on this Council," Tevos declared benevolently.

Tavia forced herself not to show the sickened expression resulting from the nauseating sensation in her lower stomach, which was exacerbated by the way Udina puffed up importantly. She had a feeling she knew as well as he did who that Councilor would be and she hated the idea that the smug bureaucrat would profit from an endeavor he had not only not believed in, but had actively tried to stop.

Yep. In spite of everything, the galaxy was still a bitch. Good to know.

"Councilor," Udina declared boldly, "on behalf of humanity and the Systems Alliance, we thank you for this prestigious honor and humbly accept."

Humbly. Right.

Had she been standing behind Udina, she would have glanced over at Anderson, at the very least to nonverbally communicate her resignation to this… folly. She didn't doubt that the three Councilors could easily curb Udina if he put a toe out of line, but all the same she would have preferred someone a little more… well, _more_ was a good word. Someone a little _more_ with regards to humanity's first councilor. Anderons wasn't a political creature, but he had enough common sense for two people and as an ICT operative wasn't easy to push around. If he couldn't make headway he, at the very least, wouldn't be pushed back. Or sideways. Or any direction he didn't want to go.

"Sovereign's defeat marks the beginning of a new era for both humanity and the Council," Sparatus noted.

She hoped so. Like a pre-war new era.

The pain of a long day, she decided, must be making her more irritable than she had a right to be.

Garrus: Formalities and Friends

"Hey stranger," Garrus declared, falling into step with Shepard as she reached the elevator. It had not been hard to catch her up. She'd put in another long day and it always showed when she did.

"Been a while. You have time to talk or are you just passing?" Tavia asked amiably.

She looked exhausted, Garrus decided, in spite of being glad to see him. Coordinating rescue efforts, working with C-Sec and generally lending a hand where her tech-skills would come in handiest, it was clear she put in hours as long as his own. And the news of the Council seat for her people wouldn't have been as welcome to her as it was to others.

"I am officially taking the night off… after one little bit of business," he answered, stepping into the elevator.

"Oh? Got someone lined up?" Tavia teased. "Handsome turian like yourself? Bet you're a hot item now that you've saved the galaxy."

"I," he answered smugly, "was a hot item _before_ I saved the galaxy."

"Your modesty does you credit," Tavia snickered. "But you'll always be a weird spikey fella as far as I'm concerned."

"And _you're_ still pink and squishy. Nice to know some things don't change," Garrus observed mock-sagely.

Tavia barked a laugh at this.

He'd missed the banter and it came as balm to his soul.

"Actually, I was going to ask if a friend of mine with a bad knee wanted to catch drinks or something. Been awhile since we just talked. You know." He shrugged. It had been. The last time he could think of was Noveria.

"I'd like that. What about this bit of business?" Tavia asked, brightening visibly. It was nice to know—or surmise—that if he'd missed being around her she'd missed being around him.

Saren had said Sovereign considered them—Tavia and himself—one unit. He'd begun to think there might be something to that. It felt lopsided, trying to work without her voice in his ear or her eyes in the sky. There were definitely more times when he felt like he was wading against a current intent on holding him back now that she wasn't there.

"Yeah, it's not the sort of thing the Council can announce on the galactic news." Garrus produced a small datapad and handed it to Tavia. "It's not exactly a reward from where I'm standing. In fact, I daresay you'll find the implications _most_ inconvenient."

Still grinning, he watched her expression as she read it, then read it again.

"I can't," she said blankly.

"Why not?"

"I'm… not able…" Tavia answered, indicating her knee. "Or won't be until this is taken care of. Then there's rehab."

"That's something else. After-business stuff. Look, the Reapers are coming and… we work well together. Spectres don't get support staff as such. This is the only way I can keep you. And… well. We have a vacancy and since you're partly responsible _for_ that vacancy…" See? He didn't talk to her much for a week and he lost the knack of it.

Ridiculous.

Tavia regarded the authorization of Spectre candidacy that designated him as her observer. "I'll… think about it," she said. "I have to make sure I'm doing it for the right reasons… not just because I can."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you," Garrus said. "That brings me to the still-business-but-kind-of-not. Whenever you're ready to get your knee fixed, it's been arranged. All you have to do is call in to Huerta Memorial. They're the best on the Citadel and they'll get you up and running… er… so to speak. That's the Council's actual thank-you, not making you a political football."

Tavia stuck the datapad into an inner pocket. Free repair work? Now that _was_ a thank you. "So. Two friends going out for drinks. Where's a good place?"


	29. Epilogue

You and I

"I really appreciate you doing this for me," Tavia announced as she lurched into the small apartment. "You don't have to."

"It's why I want to. Friends do these sorts of things," Garrus answered, carrying her bag and her cats' carrycases. The two animals—whom he had not yet seen—yowled their displeasure and hissed though the grating. They sounded like absolute monsters. Vicious. The perfect protectors for an injured… he wasn't sure how he thought of Shepard. Marine? Security consultant? Auxiliary Spectre?

Maybe just friend was enough.

"Well, yes, that, but I mean the cats. They're a handful. I only just got them to stop fouling up the house—isn't that right boys?" Tavia cooed, apparently having gotten over whatever punishments her cats had heaped on her for their extended stay at the 'Pet Hilton.'

If cats could swear, they probably would have. Colorfully.

Tavia threw down the bag she carried and shifted her weight to her good leg. As soon as it healed as far as it could, she had contacted Garrus to take him up on the Council's offer to take care of the repairs and his offer to couch crash at his place for the few days after surgery.

It was more generous than he'd told her: it was an ambassador's treatment Huerta was giving her, from the moment she applied for care to the moment physical therapy were something she could do on her own. Technically, and he'd told her as much, she didn't even have to settle for couch crashing at his place. When they said 'ambassador's treatment' they meant it.

It had meant something to him that his original offer had been preferable to whatever five-star hotel-like suite was supposed to put her up for the duration of her convalescence.

"Now, I warn you, they've never seen a turian up close before," Tavia announced, taking a knee by the case.

Garrus twitched as though to help her as her knee gave out on the last few inches. Her face contorted, but she made no other indication of discomfort.

She undid the latches and the cats shot out and disappeared under the nearest piece of furniture.

Garrus had the brief impression of eyes under the couch, glaring out at them.

Tavia struggled to her feet, sighing when she managed. "Anything on the Reapers?" she asked.

He could only imagine how much restraint it had taken not to ask earlier. "Nothing. Techs are still going over recordings and the data you pulled out of Virmire. How's Ashley?"

"Good. They promoted her. It's about damn time," Tavia added, frowning at the couch.

"I should make you deal with nasty ill-fitting furniture without any clues," Garrus teased. "That would be hilarious."

"Don't worry. I'm more flexible than you are." And, to prove her point, she settled into the couch as comfortably as she could.

Garrus scowled. "That's no fun. I _do_ have a folding chair for you." With that, he took it from where it leaned against the wall and opened it out. "Ta-dah."

"That's okay. This is… nice." She settled a little further. "Now, how I'm going to get out of it again without a hoist, I have no idea."

"I like that plan, especially once you come out of surgery."

Tavia nodded, looking a bit pale.

"It's going to be okay," Garrus said, dropping onto the couch next to her and elbowing her gently in the ribs. He had to keep reminding himself that humans had differing standards of what level of physical reassurance was permissible versus the less tolerant standards of humans. Humans liked to deal with illness and recovery more or less on their own as soon as they could do so; turians were quite the opposite. "Huerta only staffs the best. You'll be in and out in no time."

"I thought about the Spectre consideration," Tavia said uncomfortably.

"And?" Garrus perked up.

"And… I'll do it. Once I _can_ do it," Tavia answered. "The Reapers are coming. I have to be able to do my part and that means… you know. All that."

"It's _naked_ ," Garrus marveled as one of Tavia's cats slithered out from under the chair. Cats, he understood, were kept like pets and human pets tended to be furry—some more than others.

And clearly he had never appreciated what 'more than others' meant.

Tavia's laugh was real and genuine in a way it had not been in a long time. "That's _just_ what I said about them! Here, Ante. Come here, baby." She reached into her travel bag and produced a plastic bag of…

"Ooh. That smells good…" It was rare for levo food to smell good.

"Shrimp-flavored puffed rice snacks. Check the listing and if you can have one, have one," Tavia offered.

While Garrus consulted the 'cross-chirality safe to eat' list (and wondering how the foods were determined to be safe before deciding he really didn't want to know), Tavia jiggled the crunchy snack at the cat. "Edible recompense?" she asked, continuing to jiggle the treat coaxingly.

The cat sprang into her lap and Tavia winced as more claws than necessary accompanied the landing. But Ante didn't bite her fingers as he nibbled at the food, and licked her fingers afterwards.

Ace joined him a second later, demanding similar treatment—without claws as though to assert that _he_ was the nice one… probably in hopes of two treats where Ante only got one.

As Ace ate his treat—with a little more decorum than Ante—Ante prowled over to Garrus and sniffed him, then climbed onto his lap, sniffing and occasionally flexing his claws into Garrus' clothes as if to figure out what he was.

"So this is what humans are supposed to be curious like," Garrus mused as he held up a hand for Ante, who had joined Ace in his investigations. "I can see the similarities."

Tavia batted at him, but chuckled all the same. "Ah, I brought something especially for _you_ ," she announced as Ace began rubbing one shoulder against Garrus' hand.

The cat began to purr when Garrus delicately scratched along its backbone. The skin felt far too delicate for the turian's liking, but Ace seemed determined to get his shoulder against Garrus' wrist.

"I think they like your carapace," Tavia mused, as interested in this first contact as he was.

Garrus folded back his sleeve and held out his arm to test the theory. After a few cautious flicks of his tongue Ace began rubbing his shoulders against Garrus' rough carapace, beginning to rumble like a motor. Then, itch scratched, dragged its claws along the rough surface.

"Ace!" Tavia barked. "We do _not_ claw!"

Ace jumped back, knocked into Ante, and both cats went hissing over the arm of the couch.

"It's alright," Garrus mused, regarding the faint white lines the cat's claws left. "It doesn't hurt. Hey, come back over here, you," he encouraged, immensely pleased when Ace allowed him to return the cat to his lap. Ace resumed sharpening his claws with a wicked look (or so Garrus supposed) at Tavia. "It's on the list!"

Tavia handed him a snack, then two more, one for each of the cats, both of whom were purring noisily as they found comfortable places of his alien body to snuggle against.

"Why are they naked?" Garrus asked softly, watching the cat seem to lap the snack out from between his fingers before the other took his place. In this case though, teeth scraped carapace. Given the expression on the cat's face, teeth and carapace were a bad combination.

He inclined to agree with them.

"Because I'm allergic to cat dander and these like the water," Tavia answered, withdrawing a hand from her bag. "Here you go. Direct from Earth."

"Fifty Vintage Westerns…" Garrus read, grinning widely. He popped the snack into his mouth and nearly spat it back out. "Ugh! Whoa… _ugh_!"

"Also what I said," Tavia remarked lightly, almost smugly. "Want me to plug one of those in?" She indicated the box of OSDs in his hand.

Garrus got to his feet, shedding cats as he did so (much to their chagrin). "How are you getting out of that couch without a hoist?"

"Point taken… for now."

It was a good attitude to have prior to surgery, Garrus decided.

~Fin

Author's Note: Thanks to all my wonderful readers and reviewers for supporting this story! Also, when I say 'vintage westerns' I have the idea that when humanity joined the galactic stage, certain genres of film saw a revitalization—something no one else had—and westerns were one of the exports.


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